


They Whose Heart is Firm

by neela



Series: Your Eyes Turned Skywards [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Drama, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neela/pseuds/neela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Seven years of peace ended on a chilling autumn night."</p><p>Sequel to "Your Eyes Turned Skywards". Starts 7-8 years after BAMSR, SGA 4x11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breathe into me and make me real

**Author's Note:**

> "I love those who can smile in trouble, who can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection. 'Tis the business of little minds to shrink, but they whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves their conduct, will pursue their principles unto death."
> 
> \- Leonardo Da Vinci
> 
>  
> 
> EDITED: February 6th, 2014 (some dialogue between Sam and Sarah at the end)

 

 

 

 

* * *

**1**

Now that I know what I'm without,  
You can't just leave me.  
Breathe into me and make me real.  
Bring me to life.

" **Bring Me Back To Life",** _ _ **Evanescence**__

* * *

The space was nothing more than a fissure in the mountain wall, not even room enough to call it a cave or stand straight. But it was shelter, and right now Sam couldn't ask for more.

"I'm cold."

Sam looked down to the pale, drawn face huddled inside a thick fur against her chest. Large, round eyes met hers, and her insides threatened to break.

"I know, sweetie," Sam said softly, pressing a kiss to David's forehead and pulling him closer. "It'll be okay."

But even as she said it, she knew it must be a lie. A lie to comfort, nothing more; they didn't have time for hope. Hope was for those who, even though they had lost everything else, still had somewhere to go. There was no way out for them now.

"Will daddy be okay?"

David's voice was small, scared and so very young. Almost four. He stared up at her with his father's eyes, dark locks of hair trailing into his face. The fur was too big for him. It seemed to overwhelm him.

"Of course he will," Sam said, but her throat clenched, preventing any other words to come out. Tears welled up again. Sam squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip, willing herself not to break. Not now, not ever. For as long as she could live, she was needed.

Once she felt sufficiently in control, she looked down and gave David a smile. "Your dad's a fighter. He'll find his way home."

* * *

Seven years of peace ended on a chilling autumn night.

Sam startled awake to the sound of muted screams and flashes like lightening in a thunderstorm outside the window. On the palisade wall surrounding the colony, the bells that tolled danger suddenly stopped mid-sound.

John was already out of bed, nothing more than a silhouette in the darkness. She could almost see his eyes glitter in the few beams of light that came through the window.

"Stay inside," John said as he pulled on his clothes and picked up a worn sidearm from a shelf. "Could be those beasts got in again."

The sound of a round entering the gun chamber broke Sam out of her trance. The gun was only for emergencies. There were few bullets left. But with the man-sized nocturnal beasts that had come down from the north to haunt the colony for the past year, they couldn't take any chances. They'd already lost good people.

Her insides chilled.

John was out the door before Sam could say a word. The screams continued: distant, alien and muted. The window flashed with white light, and on the other side of the colony a fire was brewing. Something was aflame.

_David._

Slight panic filled Sam as she swung her feet off the bed and slipped a woollen dress over her naked form. Fingers groped for her cane in its usual place and found it. With only some minor complaint from her left knee, she got to her feet and hurried into the living room.

The windows flashed like there was lightening outside, but there was no sound of thunder. Sam stopped and stared through the glass panes, frowning.

People ran all over. Skirting between houses here and there, running – always running – and Sam could see why. A beam of light trailed after them, then swept them off the ground as it caught up. They disappeared.

"Oh my god," Sam whispered, frozen.

The cabin's front door banged open. John ran back inside and closed it behind him, gun still in hand. Their eyes met and a long-forgotten dread dropped like a cold stone into Sam's stomach when she saw the confirmation in John's face.

_The Wraith._

"We need to get out of here," John said, his voice hard.

Sam brooked no argument. Questions of _why_ and _how_ would have to wait. There was no time.

As one, they sprung into action. John hurried back into their bedroom while Sam turned towards their small kitchen space. An old familiar detachedness she'd thought was long-gone filled her.

With deft fingers, Sam found two Athosian-style leather bags and filled them with whatever food and equipment she deemed necessary. John re-entered the living room with a heap of clothes in his hands and laid the bundle on the table. Then he went into the second bedroom.

Sam dressed quickly as John returned with David, who'd woken up and rubbed his eyes tiredly. The boy was on the brink of crying. She could see him build up to a sleepy, scared fit and hurriedly took him from John.

"It's okay, sweetie," Sam mumbled and stroked David's hair, holding him close as the boy's chest trembled. John finished collecting what they needed into the bags. "It's okay. We're just going outside for a while. Go back to sleep. It's okay."

"Here," John gestured and Sam handed David back, the boy calm now but confused. He buried his face in John's neck, clutching the front of his father's coat. The sight nearly broke Sam's detached composure.

Sam picked up the bags and wore them like rucksacks. John quickly dressed David and wrapped him in a blanket, then held him against his chest and rubbed his back, muttering words of comfort beneath his breath.

"Where?" Sam asked simply, taking her cane.

"Gotta stay away from large open spaces, so only option is west," John said, keeping his voice calm and low for David's sake. His eyes, however, reflected the tense gravity of the situation. "The others have already begun to spread out. I told them to get to the forest. It's thick enough that we might lose 'em, and we've got the mining caves in the mountains beyond that'll give us shelter."

"Okay," Sam said. She didn't want to think about who had already been taken. She knew the stakes. Her thoughts were on David.

The front door banged open again. Sam's head snapped up and John jerked backwards, twisting to shield David from harm. Both expected Wraith Drones, but it was Ronon, dressed in his typical long coat, energy weapons in each hand. The light on the back of his guns was red; it was set to kill.

"Back door's clear," Ronon said, looking over his shoulder. His features were fierce. "We have to move _now_."

They didn't linger.

Ignoring the screams and the high-pitched whines that tore through their skin and into their bones, they moved outside and quickly went around the cabin. John moved first, shielding David's face from the horrors around them. Sam followed, cane in hand, ignoring the protests from her knee as she tried to half-run. Ronon made up the rear, head turned upwards and swivelling side-to-side like a turret.

Others joined them, running in zigzags in the open spaces between cabins in case the beams came their way. Sam saw Sarah pulling a nightgown-clad Rosemary by the hand, followed by Dr Matthews. Marines with the few working P90s left in the colony stood placed here and there, keeping a lookout for Wraith darts and guiding people the right way. There was no sign of ground forces.

A queue formed at the back door – a narrow opening in the palisade wall intended as an escape route – and Sam found herself separated from John and David. She looked for them frantically amidst the fleeing crowd, and thought she could see John's spiky hair in the flashes of light before he was gone.

"It's coming this way!" someone cried out, the voice panicked and unfamiliar.

Weapons fire commenced. People pushed against the opening and Sam was squeezed between Ronon's broad chest and Dr Matthews's shoulder. She couldn't move and, for a moment, she couldn't breathe. The air was pressed out of her.

Then, as if coming out of water right before you drowned, Sam was on the other side of the palisades and the pressure lifted. She gasped for air, taking in mouthfuls.

"Sam!" John's voice was somewhere in the throng.

Sam looked up. People began to fan out, setting off at full speed towards the forest rising in the darkness. John and David stood in the shadow of a tree, and Ronon grasped Sam's arm to pull her away from the crowd. She limped after him, the cane forgotten, her head filled with the sound of David's frantic crying.

"Shh, mommy's here," said John as Sam reached them. He rocked David back and forth, the boy wailing at the top of his voice. The horrible sound tore through Sam's insides like a knife. "Look, she's here now. Shh."

"David." Sam hugged them both, feeling dizzy and relieved. The detachedness from before disappeared. "I'm here, sweetie. Mommy's here. It's okay."

David twisted in John's arms and stretched his own small ones towards Sam. He still cried, inconsolable. Sam took him, shifting his weight against her hip, and rocked him tightly against her chest. Her own breaths came quick and gasping. She was sure the pain showed on her face. John looked worried.

"We can't stop," said Ronon, eyes behind them beyond the palisade wall. "They'll be coming back for another round."

John eyed Sam, his face hardening. "Can you make it?"

With David refusing to leave Sam's arms, the bags on her back and her complaining knee, Sam doubted it, but there was no other option. This was about survival, nothing else.

"Yes," she said, meeting John's eyes. The words passed between them silently. There was no room for arguments. They knew the stakes.

"Okay." John looked behind them towards the colony. The gun was back in his hand as he put a hand on Sam's lower back. "Let's move."

They joined the others running for safety to the thick western forest. Sam moved as fast as she could, John and Ronon running hunched on either side of her, eyes behind them. David cried in her ears, deafening other sounds.

But he couldn't deafen the high-pitched whine of the Wraith darts. They were coming closer, like a freight train roaring threateningly in the distance.

Sam ran, ignoring the pain in her knee and the burning muscles in her arms and shoulders. David cried louder. The high-pitched whines almost deafened him.

Fifty yards. The forest might as well have been a mile away. Sam realised with a twist of her insides that she might not make it. The whines coming from the Wraith darts beat against her eardrums. Her arms tightened around David, crushing him against her chest. She kicked harder against the ground, trying to pick up speed. Pain flared up in her knee, but she pushed on.

The darts were almost right on top of them. She could feel the vibration in the air and in the ground, looming ever closer.

_It's still too far. I won't make it. I won't—_

Sam heard John yell something, but she couldn't make out the words. Then, John's hand wasn't on her back anymore.

Shocked, Sam stopped completely, eyes wide as she saw John run away from them, away from the crowd. He was out in the open, alone, making himself a target. He waved his arms and fired his gun at one of the Wraith darts, the muzzle flashes lighting up his face in reddish colours.

"John! _No_!"

John turned, not forty yards away, and in the growing light now headed his way, Sam could see him yell something at her. The words were inaudible between David's cries and the deafening high-pitched whines. She started towards him, yelling, but someone held her back. She struggled against the grip, all sounds gone now, as John met her eyes and opened his mouth to form the words—

The next moment, he was gone.

* * *

" _That tickles." Sam turned her head to grin at John, who lay propped up on his elbow next to her in the grass. A lazy smirk crossed his face._

" _Sorry," he said, but Sam knew very well that he didn't mean it. For one, his hand didn't move from the bare skin of her neck where he played with the long strands of her braided hair._

_With an amused roll of her eyes, Sam laid her head back down on her arms and enjoyed the warmth spreading through her._

_She couldn't remember the last time – if ever – she'd done this. It was a rare luxury to lie in the grass on a summer's day like teenagers without a care in the world. Just two years ago, they'd been on Atlantis preparing for battle. A few months later, they'd struggled to see how they'd survive the harsh winter on this planet._

_It seemed an eternity since. For a long time, Sam had mourned the thought that they'd never get back to Atlantis or Earth. But then, life returned. Sam felt whole in a way she doubted she'd ever felt before. Like this planet and their situation had found a piece of her she'd been missing._

_John's fingers drifted lower on her neck to tease the edge of her dress. Sam looked at him again. The smirk was there in full, joined by a suggestive twinkle in his eyes._

" _You want me to stop?" he asked, his fingers dipping beneath the edge of her dress._

_Sam smiled and reached a hand up to caress John's bearded cheek. Warmth welled up inside her chest that had nothing to do with the sun or John's fingers on her skin. It felt wonderful. Liberating._

" _Never," she said softly and pulled him close._

* * *

Fifty-two colonists reached the forest unscathed. For the rest of the night, they continued to move as far away from the colony as possible in case the Wraith sent down Commanders and Drones to hunt them down. They had no idea whether the Wraith kept to their traditional culling routine or were desperate enough to take everyone, even the children, so it was better to be prepared for anything.

Sam limped alongside Sarah, each holding their child in their arms. Both Rosemary and David had fallen asleep from exhaustion. Sam felt close to joining them, but her internal autopilot kept her feet moving, one agonising step at a time. In her mind, John's face before he disappeared in the beam lingered as an imprint on her retinae. She grew numb to the coldness that washed through her veins.

Neither spoke. Words were unnecessary. They just walked, following the ones who walked in front of them. Up ahead, Ronon led the way, with the surviving Marines taking up positions on the flanks and at the rear. The entire column of survivors was silent save for sounds of motion.

Dawn broke as they finally reached a crop of mountains in the middle of the forest. There were mining caves and tunnels here, which the hunters also used as shelter in winter when it was too cold for mining, and the weary group of survivors trailed inside the darkness of cold rock.

Sam and Sarah found a spot inside the reinforced cave system to put down Rosemary and David, who still slept soundly. Shrugging off her bags, Sam left them in Sarah's hands and limped back outside where Ronon talked to the Marines.

"Keep your guard up," Ronon said, eyeing the soldiers lined up around him. "Even if the darts went back to wherever they came from, they might have left Drones behind. If you see one: shoot first. Don't ask questions."

A round of "aye, sir" swept through the Marines, who spread out and took up defensive positions outside the caves. It spoke highly of their training that despite their obvious tiredness and minimal ammunition, the Marines didn't waver.

Ronon spotted Sam and eyed her approach warily, his face still fierce but with eyes that softened just a notch with silent understanding.

"Sam," he greeted.

Sam halted and leaned heavily on her cane, giving their surroundings a close look. The trees were tall and would give the cave entrances good cover from the air. Any detection would have to come at ground level. Unfortunately, the trees were thickly clustered and would make it as difficult for the Marines to spot any intruders as for the Wraith to locate them by eyesight alone.

"How long can we stay here?" Sam asked, feeling both disconnected and weighed down. It was a wake-up call to have their past pay a surprise visit. Things she'd almost forgotten came back to her.

"Long enough," Ronon said. "There's stored food, firewood and blankets in the caves. Not enough for everyone, but we've shared before."

Sam nodded curtly, not too comfortable with the notion that they were almost back to the miserable condition as when they'd first landed on this planet. She'd hoped they'd never had to experience that again, especially not the children.

"I'd like a roll call now that everyone's settled," Sam said. "Make sure—ugh…"

Pain flared up her left leg and Sam felt nauseous. She noticed Ronon step closer and she held up her hand to stall him, breathing through the pain.

"Please make sure everyone's aware of any escape routes and contingency plans," Sam finished, looking up at Ronon, whose face seemed even fiercer. "I'm leaving this in your hands for the moment, Ronon. If I don't sit down for a while, I'm sure John'd be—"

Sam broke off, realising what she'd said. Her throat clenched tightly and sudden tears sprung in her eyes. It worsened when Ronon put his hand awkwardly on her shoulder, and Sam struggled to regain control of her trembling body.

"Get some rest," Ronon said lowly. His hand went down to grab her elbow and guide her inside, but Sam shrugged him off.

"I'm fine," she said, not meeting his eyes. She shifted her weight onto the cane and turned back towards the cave entrance. "Just keep me informed."

* * *

_Sam groaned as Dr Matthews slowly moved her knee back and forth. Even with the painkiller she'd been given, the pain was unbelievable. Now she understood how Cam had felt all those years ago, albeit his recovery would've been much easier with modern, top-of-the-line technology available._

_Standing in the tent opening like a silent sentinel, John looked extremely worried. Not that_ that _image was anything new these days. When she woke up from her coma, she'd been surprised to find that when he put his mind to it, John Sheppard could be a real mother hen. Ever since the crash, he'd always been the first to caution her to rest properly, or get enough water and food. Any other day his fussing would amuse her immensely, but not today._

" _The fractures should be healed by now, but you've lost muscle mass and there's possible nerve damage as well," said the doctor as he continued testing her mobility. "You'll need to build up your muscles before you attempt to walk again."_

" _How long?" Sam gritted her teeth, trying to relax so Dr Matthews could complete his examination. She let out an involuntary gasp when needle-like pinpricks seemed to run up her thigh. John's frown deepened and he seemed to struggle to stand still._

" _Depends on your strength," said Dr Matthews. He peered at her through his broken glasses. "I'd say a month, maybe more. That said, I think you should know that you might never be able to use your leg fully as before. If we'd had access to modern equipment—"_

" _But we don't," Sam interjected, having long since faced the reality of her injuries. "Right now, I'll be happy just to be able to move on two feet. I don't care if I'll have a limp or not."_

_It took a moment before Dr Matthews nodded. He carefully laid Sam's leg down onto the furs. "You know I can't guarantee anything."_

_Sam managed a small smile. "I know. You've done a great job under the circumstances, doc. I'm impressed."_

_She was, but the sentiment grew harder to remember over the next week as Sam pushed herself painfully through her exercises. It was hard. Too hard. Despite a week's training, she'd gotten nowhere. Nothing had improved. The exercises didn't help._

_After a particularly excruciating workout that was forced to end before she was ready, Sam laid on her side in a corner of the tent, ignoring the fifteen or so others talking lowly in the background. Hot, angry tears ran silently down her face. She buried them in the fur she was wrapped in, refusing to let out the thick sobs that stuck in her throat. Right now, she wished she were alone. At least then no one could see…_

" _Hey." John spoke before a hand was put gently on her shoulder._

_Sam stiffened, her breath stopped._

" _You'll be fine," John said, almost in a whisper, but his voice was firm. "_ _ **Don't**_ _give up, you hear? You'll get there… Sam."_

_Another hot, burning tear dribbled down the ridge of her nose at the gentle way he said her name. Not 'Colonel', not 'ma'am', just… Sam burrowed her face in her makeshift pillow and tried to ignore the steady presence next to her; tried to ignore the fact that he was slipping under her skin day by day._

_All the while, John's hand didn't move away. It stayed, firm and present, until the silent tears stopped and Sam's breaths finally evened out._

_She didn't meet his eyes, not even when he brought some hot broth later and all traces of her tears were physically gone. She remained silent for the rest of the evening, feeling as if people skirted their eyes at her knowingly. But she didn't turn her back on them again. Instead, she lay in her bundle of furs and stared at the patched ceiling of the tent, and let her mind churn over and over._

_When John returned from his part of the night shift, carefully easing himself down on his spot next to Sam's, she finally met his glittering gaze in the dim darkness._

" _Thank you," she whispered, not wanting to wake the others._

_For a moment, he looked startled. As if he'd expected her to be asleep or something else. Then John eyed her, nodded, and opened his fur welcomingly, just as he'd done every evening since that night in the cave._

_Sam hesitated only a second before scooting closer and finding that spot next to him that was becoming so dangerously comfortable. Laying her head on his chest, her arm slung around his middle, Sam closed her eyes and focused on his heartbeat._

_This winter was unforgiving, but it never felt cold next to him. She was starting to realise this, even starting slowly to accept it. With him, she could just be Sam. She didn't have to be the Colonel. The feeling was liberating._

* * *

For the second time in the past twenty-four hours, Sam startled awake. Immediately, she heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire. It reverberated in the walls of the cave.

Jolting upright, Sam untangled herself and quickly checked that David was still next to her. In the light coming from a dying fire nearby, she saw him stirring beneath the blankets, but still asleep.

The gunfire continued. Short bursts, but steady. Not frantic. Controlled. But they didn't relent either.

"Sarah." Sam shook the woman next to her, her mind already working hard. "Thomas. _Wake up_."

"What's going—" Dr Matthews's voice broke off as he too heard the gunfire. He immediately jolted up, eyes on the dark tunnel leading from the cave to the outside.

"Get up," Sam said, already on her knees and pulling her two bags of belongings onto her back. "Wake people up. Get them ready, but be calm. We might have to move out."

All around them in the large cave, people stirred as Sam, Sarah and Dr Matthews began to move around. A baby began to cry in the corner, waking his mother, and two more children chimed in. Sam couldn't help worry that the sound might travel outside.

Sam was halfway through her warning trip when Ronon came running through the tunnel. Gunfire still sounded outside, but the control was weakening. It was growing more frantic.

She approached Ronon quickly. "Wraith?"

Ronon nodded, eying the bustle of motion in the cave. "We killed four, but there's more coming. You need to get out _now._ "

Sam looked up sharply, not missing his inflection. "What about you?"

"Distraction," he said simply, his dark eyes fiery. Ronon held out one of his energy magnum weapons, the blue light indicating its stun function was turned on. "You know how to use it."

Sam took it, the weight heavy but familiar in her hand. He'd taught her how to use it years ago. She gave Ronon a hard look. It'd be pointless to tell him or the Marines not to do it. This was about survival. Sacrificing the few to save the many. But irrationally, Sam struggled to accept it. It was too soon. She'd just lost John, she couldn't…

Her eyes burned unexpectedly.

"Mommy?" David's voice was shaking, on the brink of crying. He sat with the blankets pooled around him, eyes searching the cave, oblivious to Sarah's attempts at comforting him.

Ronon put his hand on Sam's shoulder. She gave him a tremulous stare and squeezed his hand.

"Get going," Ronon said lowly. "We've got your six."

With that, he turned and navigated through the crowd to reach the tunnel that led outside. Sam was left to stare after him, seeing the familiar dreadlocks tower above all other heads, then disappear around a corner.

When she blinked back tears, she realised everyone in the crowd was looking at her. Expecting her to lead. Tightening her grip on Ronon's gun, Sam said tonelessly, "Get to the escape tunnels."

* * *

" _Starting early is good."_

_Ronon's sudden voice made Sam look up from where she sat writing down equations in the dirt with a stick. She followed his gaze to see David and John locked in a game of tag. The three-year-old was chasing John and almost touched the back of his father's trousers, then laughed out loud when John skipped sideways and made an extravagant whirl to a safe distance._

" _You mean playing?" Sam asked, smiling at the sight. It always filled her with the warm fuzzies._

" _Training," said Ronon. Startled, Sam looked at him. "On Sateda, children began to train at age four. This 'game', as you call it, hones their hunting skills. The Athosians have something similar."_

_Sam hadn't thought of it that way. She frowned as she watched John let himself be tagged, and then made a big show of how he was now going to catch David. The boy squealed in exhilarated fright and took off around the corner of a nearby cabin. The thought of her son training rather than playing worried her._

" _It's not a conscious choice," Sam said eventually. "On most places on Earth, we don't train our children with the intention that they will one day be forced to fight for their lives, or to secure food. Our society's safe enough that they don't need to worry about that. They can just play."_

" _Well, this isn't Earth," Ronon said simply._

_He wasn't being malicious; Sam knew that. From the moment they'd landed on this planet, she'd known things would be different. Their children would face a far less secure future than they would on Earth, or even Atlantis. Conditions had changed. They lived and fought to survive. While Sam probably wouldn't let this simpler life stop her from teaching David or the other children about maths, science or Earth history, she knew they would need a different skillset than their parents._

_But the thought of something as innocent as a game of tag being a way to train hunting or evasion skills...it didn't sit right with her. Children should be happy. Children should be safe. Children shouldn't have to worry about food, water or shelter._

" _You're probably right," Sam said lowly, looking up as David and John came around the opposite corner of the cabin they'd disappeared behind, the former still squealing with laughter. She managed to find her smile again at the look of pure bliss on David's face. "But I wouldn't mind pretending it's just a game. There'll be time for training. Someday. For now, we're here. We'll protect them."_

_She knew Ronon probably disagreed, but watching John finally grab David around the middle and flip him up into the air, his baritone chuckles joining David's high-pitched laughter, she didn't care. This was worth it. They'd seen so much, done so many terrible things. Their own innocence had been lost decades ago. The children were still pure, and Sam would cross hell and high waters to ensure that David wouldn't lose that sooner than he had to._

_There was still time._

* * *

At first, she didn't understand the sudden pandemonium of panic. Sam pushed through the crowd going in the opposite direction, her fingers wound tightly around Ronon's gun. Then, in the flickering light coming from the torches fastened to the tunnel wall, the cause became apparent.

" _No_!"

Sam's voice broke as she halted, the others still pushing frantically past her in the narrow mining tunnel. Only a few metres behind them, Levin was being reduced to a white-haired husk in front of her eyes. Her five-year-old son Evan shrieked at the top of his voice, red-faced, clawing at the arm that was attached to his mother's chest, banging at it with his small fists.

The Wraith Commander barred his teeth like a feral grin.

Then a red bolt of energy hit him straight in the face. The grin dropped, but the Wraith was still standing. He yanked Evan off his arm and flung him sideways, turning to Sam, eyes narrowed.

Sam pulled the trigger on Ronon's gun once, twice, sending off red-hot bolts of energy with a yell. It hit the Wraith squarely in the chest and neck, making the Commander stumble forward.

But he kept coming. With a roar that tore through her mind, the Wraith surged forward, feeding arm outstretched.

Sam didn't think. She sent off two more shots, ducking underneath the outstretched arm, and then elbowed the Wraith in the neck as he staggered from the shots. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as the Wraith turned, swinging a clawed hand aimed for her face. She jerked back, ignoring the needles of pain shooting up her left leg as her weight pushed down on it.

The gun was torn from her hand. Sam flung herself down and rolled, in the process finding the knife she kept with her at all times. With a yell, she jabbed it into the Wraith's calf, quickly scrambling to her feet as he roared in pain.

Using the distraction, she looked for the gun and found it near the tunnel wall. She'd nearly caught it when a hand gripped her ankle and yanked her back. The Wraith twisted her leg, inducing white-hot pain that threatened to black her out. Sam reacted instinctively, kicking her other leg with force against the Wraith's stomach.

The grip dropped as the Wraith grunted and reeled backwards. Sam quickly clambered for the gun and twisted sideways just as the Wraith's feeding hand came crashing down. It hit the ground instead, giving her time to roll over and then plant the gun an inch from the Wraith Commander's face.

She pulled the trigger. The Wraith's face snapped sideways, then his body crashed into the ground. Sam pushed away from him with her legs and fired off another two shots in the process. The Wraith jerked, but didn't move again.

For a long while, Sam lay panting on the ground, gun still aimed at the motionless Wraith. Then, gradually, her surroundings came back into focus. She heard Evan's cries, mingled with David's, who was somewhere ahead of her in the tunnel. There were sounds of shuffling, and then Dr Matthews pushed through the lingering crowd to crouch next to her.

"Colonel, are you alright?"

His eyes went up and down her body, landing on her twisted left leg. Sam grimaced, adrenaline still numbing most of the pain. Her head was filled with children's cries.

"Where's David?" she asked, sitting up. She tested her leg gently; she could still move it. Nothing seemed broken or torn. It'd just reacted to the abnormal twist.

"With Sarah. He's okay," Dr Matthews said.

He checked her leg too with expert motions, making sure there was nothing wrong. Then he sat back on his knees and looked over at the crying boy still clinging to his mother's husk. One of the others was already approaching him, trying to remove him gently from Levin's body, but the boy refused.

Sam's insides twisted. Evan's dad – Hutchinson – had been with the Marines in the colony safeguarding their escape. He'd never reached the forest. For all they knew, Evan was now an orphan.

Later, when David was once more secure in her arms and they were hurrying through the mining tunnels to the cool outside, Sam couldn't help think she'd almost made her son an orphan too.

* * *

" _I could've died," Sam said quietly. She lay in the bed that John had moved into the living room, watching him pace in front of the blazing fireplace with baby David in his arms. Even a month after her Caesarean, she still felt incredibly weak. Like almost all the life had drained out of her._

_John looked up, a dark frown on his face. "I don't need reminding, Sam. I was here."_

_Sam sighed. "I know, it's just… It made me realise that there are some things we'll never have that we used to have. Medicine, technology: things we've depended on to save our lives in the past. Dying in childbirth is something I imagined only happened in the third world or before the 20_ _th_ _century. Not…"_

" _Yeah, but you made it," John said firmly. He stepped closer, his voice softening as he rocked a mewling David. "Look, we knew we were gonna have lousy odds on this planet compared to Earth or Atlantis, but we're still from the 21_ _st_ _century. We know a lot more that can save our lives today. You're living proof of that."_

_Sam managed a small smile. "Even so, you gotta admit we're way beyond the definition of 'roughing it'."_

" _No doubt." John walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, tilting his arms so Sam could see the tiny face wrapped up in the bundle of furs. A smile played on his lips. "But look at this guy. I don't think he'll mind growing up here."_

_Sam stroked David's nose with the tip of her finger, feeling tears well up in her eyes. "I guess not. Can't miss what you don't have, right?"_

" _Right on." John smirked, then panicked a little when David started to squirm; his tiny face scrunched up in what they'd learned was his warning of a pre-crying fit. "And that's your cue, Mama Bear. You've got something he misses, and he ain't getting it from me."_

_Sam chuckled and accepted David in her arms. As she nursed him, she saw John stare mesmerised at them, his eyes filled with indescribable emotion. And she knew. If something should happen again, she'd do whatever she could to make sure their son would always have his mommy. They both would._

* * *

The beasts were nearby. Maybe just yards away. Or it could be the Wraith; Sam didn't dare take the chance to look outside the fissure. But she could hear movement. She could hear the savage breaths in the darkness, and they weren't human.

The rock was cold and ice threatened to set in her bones from hours of disuse, but Sam didn't have a choice. She pushed as far as she could into the fissure, held David tight against her chest, and let the tears run silently down her cheeks as she listened intently.

There were _cracks_ in the distance from twigs being snapped. Sam tightened her hold, making David squirm uncomfortably in protest.

" _Shh_ ," Sam mumbled beneath her breath, almost not daring to breathe.

David seemed to sense the seriousness of the situation. He stopped squirming, but turned his head so he could stare out through the fissure. His breaths were quick and warm against Sam's neck, but he didn't say a word. The action made Sam's insides twist and churn, making more tears run down her cheek.

_He's too young for this._

The survivors had split up after they exited the escape tunnels in the hopes that it'd be harder for the Wraith to detect them. Finding a few thermal life signs was by far more difficult than finding a group of forty people that stuck together. The weapons that were left had been divided between the smaller groups, and everyone had been aware that finding somewhere to hide was the best course of action for the time being. They couldn't outrun the Wraith forever.

Sam and David had trailed north with Sarah, Dr Matthews and Rosemary along the mountain ridge, drawing farther and farther from the known area around the colony. From John's hunting stories, Sam had known there were plenty of caves in these mountains – but there were also an equal number of nocturnal carnivores, some as large as a grizzly bear.

When night fell upon them again, they'd found an area with several fissures in the rock wall. It was the best they could do. Sam and David snuggled up in one, while the Matthews family found a larger one that could hold them all.

But Sam didn't dare sleep. The forest beyond the mountain had been alive with sounds. She'd heard the howls of the beasts that'd hounded the colony in the past year as they called to each other. She'd known that they, like the Wraith, were able to detect thermal signatures, and that they wouldn't hesitate to kill if given the chance. That's how they'd lost three hunters last year.

As she listened now to the _cracks_ and breaths drawing nearer, Sam squeezed her fingers around Ronon's gun and focused on anything but the boy burrowing his head into her neck. For a moment, her head was filled with the memory of the Kull warrior who'd hunted her so many years ago. The feeling was the same now as then, except this time it wasn't just her life on the stake.

A sudden howl made Sam jump, clenching David's body to her own, and she raised her – Ronon's – gun towards the opening of the fissure. Her heart beat wildly. The beast couldn't be more than yards away. It could probably smell them and was calling to the others.

David still didn't say a word. His fingers gripped the front of Sam's shirt, threatening to shake Sam out of her military detachedness.

She held the gun more firmly.

The howl stopped. For a second, it hung in the air like an echo, and then another howl pierced the night in the distance. It was more muted, but it caused the beast lurking outside to suddenly take off.

Holding her breath, Sam listened as the beast ran away, tearing through the undergrowth of the forest outside with loud _cracks_. Only when there was complete silence did she dare let out her breath.

"Is it gone?" David whispered, still calm against her chest.

Immense relief washed over Sam and she managed a smile. "Yes. It's gone."

But she couldn't help wonder who else had been found in the forest and had become the beasts' prey instead of them. She hoped that it was just an animal. She wasn't sure if she could handle more losses.

* * *

 _Sam sat in the opening to the wreck of_ Daedalus _, wrapped in furs, staring at the field of graves in the distance. There were so many of them. Row upon row, the graves held two or three people at once._

_No one had liked the idea of mass graves, but the ground was too hard and ice-packed to make one grave for each of the nearly two hundred fatalities before the bodies rotted. In the end, it'd been John's decision._

_He was out there now with Ronon, making another grave with scraps of metal they used as spades. Her heart twisted with each_ thud _of the makeshift spades, and she knew she'd see pain in John's eyes again when he returned, sitting silently beside her in the twilight as he did every night._

_He'd changed. They all had. Sam didn't know what was worse, to see the hopelessness and defeat in the faces around her or to feel it slowly creeping into her own. When she woke up from her coma, this wasn't what she'd expected. The last thing she could remember was that they broke off the attack on Asuras. Beyond that, she was blank. Dr Matthews said it was because of the concussion, that the memories might come back, but Sam wasn't sure if she wanted to remember. Who would want to remember their utter defeat, the lives that had been lost before their very eyes?_

_John told her she'd ensured that the_ Daedalus _didn't crash into the system's sun, managing to steer them to this planet instead, but it sounded as if someone else had done it. Maybe Rodney, who'd died not four yards away from her, crushed under a collapsed ceiling. How she'd managed to get under the console that saved her life from the collapsed ceiling, she didn't know. Had she done it herself, or had Rodney pushed her there?_

 _There was so much she didn't know. One minute, she'd been in Engineering on_ Daedalus _, the next she'd woken up and the whole world had changed. Rodney was dead, so was Novak, Caldwell, Marks, Cooper and countless others that she knew by name. So many dead… and for what? They didn't know what happened to the Asurans, to the Wraith, or to Atlantis and the Athosians. No one had come for them. With the homing beacon destroyed, how could they know they were even alive? And if she'd tried to save herself instead of Rodney, she couldn't – wouldn't – forgive herself. She'd rather be dead._

_Tears welled up in Sam's eyes as the last thought crashed through her mind, and she squeezed them tightly shut, feeling as if she'd fallen into a dark hole with no bottom. Silent sobs racked her body as she floundered in the darkness, and she lost track of time._

_When a hand was put on her shoulder, Sam jumped, sending waves of pain up her broken leg and arm._

" _Sorry." John's voice was toneless. She looked up to see he'd sat down next to her, his hand moving awkwardly away from her shoulder. The tough façade he'd put on his face these days betrayed nothing._

_He looked away and Sam followed his gaze. Ronon and a couple of Marines were shovelling dirt back into the shallow grave they'd dug, then added a pile of rocks on top._

_Fresh tears ran down Sam's cheeks. A sudden urge to speak made her blurt out, "He was in the bed next to me. His name was Fabian. He was assigned to the_ Apollo. _He…he told me he didn't want to die. I held his hand and told him he wouldn't. Then he was gone."_

_John glanced at her once beneath furrowed eyebrows, his features cut in stone, but he remained silent. Perhaps stories like hers were commonplace now. So many had died while she was in a coma. Why did it have to be so much death? Why now? What was the point?_

" _He shouldn't have died," said Sam, her throat thick and sore, not caring if she was coming apart right in front of her 2IC. The tears burned on her cold cheeks. "None of them should."_

" _It's war," John said lowly. "We can't predict what'll happen. This time, we caught the losing hand."_

" _But our intel was good," Sam said, shaking her head, clutching the furs close to her frozen body. "By all accounts, we should've caught them pants-down. Why…?"_

_She broke off, reaching up with her healthy hand to cover her eyes. They burned like fire against the cold. In her mind's eye, she could see Rodney's animated face as they spoke about the finishing touches to their plan in the Atlantis conference room. Could see the approving nods from Caldwell and Ellis, the acceptance from Teyla and Ronon, and John…_

" _Stop," John said suddenly, his voice gruff. "It's not your fault. The replicators did this. They're to blame. It's solely on their shoulders. Not ours."_

_Sam opened her eyes. John still stared at Ronon and the Marines in the field of graves, but something had slipped past his stony façade. There was incredible, indescribable pain in his eyes despite the bitterness in his voice. They seemed to shimmer with unshed tears._

_Her heart broke. Without thinking, Sam reached out and put her good hand on John's arm. He startled a little, his stony mask sliding back into place, but Sam didn't let go. She squeezed his arm and met his eyes, trying to muster the words that struggled inside her chest._

_But the words didn't – couldn't – come, and so their eyes spoke instead. Anger, remorse, grief, hopelessness, defeat; they all played in their eyes. But no hope. There could be no hope when their friends were dead and their own future was so uncertain._

_Not now, but one day. Perhaps one day soon._

_In the meantime, Sam didn't let go of John's arm. And, eventually, his hand reached up to cover hers, and words were unnecessary. Because, how could you put words on something so profound, something so great, and something so terrible? For now, their proximity was enough. They could grieve together. They could be angry together. They could – one day, hopefully – go forward together._

_It would have to be enough. For now._

* * *

After the sleepless night in the fissures, Sam, David and the Matthews family trailed further north until they found another small system of caves. There was no escape tunnel this time, but it was shelter and more defensible than the fissures.

They stayed there for a week. For the first couple of nights, Sam insisted on taking large parts of the night shift, as none of the others had any combat experience. She couldn't sleep anyhow. Neither Dr Matthews nor Sarah could convince her otherwise, so Sam found herself staring out of the cave entrance in the early hours of the morning as rain poured down by the bucket load, feeling her mood shift with the weather.

The rain season had begun. In a month's time, winter would be upon them. Their hopes right now were that the Wraith had left and that most of the colony was salvageable. Otherwise, they'd have to live out of these caves until spring. There was nowhere else.

It pained Sam to see the drawn and worn faces again in Dr Matthews and Sarah as the days wore on, and to know that it was reflected it her own. Despite her vow to move on, she couldn't help the sense of hopelessness, grief, shock, anger, and of all those emotions that threatened to consume her from within.

 _John standing out in the field, alone, arms outstretched and muzzle flashes lighting up his face;_ the image was burned into her retinae. She saw it every time she closed her eyes. _John's face turned towards her, his dark eyes glittering in the darkness, his skin pale from the approaching beam's light, his mouth open as if to scream…_

"Sam."

Sam startled as Sarah laid a blanket around her shoulders. The other woman smiled and sat down next to her in the cave entrance, the foggy morning light casting a pale and cold colour across her features.

"It's growing colder. You shouldn't sit here all night. I'll take this watch."

"I'm okay," Sam said dismissively, but she pulled the blanket closer and gave Sarah a small smile. "Thanks."

Sarah shrugged. "I worry about you, Sam. You don't sleep and you don't eat."

"I'm not that hungry," Sam said, looking back out at the pouring rain.

"Don't try to fool me, Sam. I know you too well." Sarah grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "I understand you're being brave for David, but you can't keep it all bottled up. It'll consume you. John wouldn't want you to—"

"John's gone, Sarah." Sam's tone was fierce and bitter. "He's gone, Levin's gone, Ronon's gone… Everybody's gone. It's just us."

Sarah's large doe-like eyes understood too much. Sam couldn't face her, so she wrenched her head away and fixed her eyes upon a clutter of bushes down at the treeline, clutching Ronon's gun tightly in her hand.

"We'll survive," Sam said eventually, her words hollow, "but it's just us now. I don't think those who were taken will come back from this. They're probably already dead. The Wraith don't always wait to feed, especially if the Asurans are continuing to starve them by attacking human planets."

"Sam…" Sarah's grip on Sam's hand tightened. "Listen to me, please. I know the odds and the facts, but John's always beaten the odds before. How many times hasn't he found a way out of Wraith captivity? He'll come back to you. He _loves_ you, Sam. And he'd never leave David without his dad."

"He knew I wouldn't make it to the treeline in time, so he made himself a target," Sam said, her throat constricting. Her next words came out in a hoarse whisper. "I don't think he's coming back this time. I don't think he meant to."

"Don't say that!" Sarah raised her voice abruptly, adding firmly, "You once told me the future's not set in stone, that anything can happen. If not in this reality or dimension or whatever, then in another."

"That doesn't exactly encourage me," Sam said mirthlessly. Sarah almost rolled her eyes in exasperation, knowing full well that Sam wasn't so obtuse that she didn't understand where Sarah was going with this.

"What I _mean,_ "Sarah said, giving Sam a little glare as if annoyed that she had to explain herself,"is that if John can die in another reality, he can live in this one. So don't give up. You gave me hope once that we'd get through the crash, the death of our friends, the first winter, and the fact that we might never get back to Earth again. So now I'm telling you, don't lose hope. Please, Sam."

Sam didn't reply. She stared out the entrance at the fog-covered forest below them, the last moment she saw John playing in her mind. For the past five days, she'd tried to work out what he'd said to her before the beam caught him, but she was still clueless. She'd never been a good lip-reader.

"I'm not sure how to go on, Sarah…" Sam said finally, her voice trembling. Tears welled up in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. Her chest began to shake in restrained sobs. She didn't meet her friend's eyes, but Sarah's hand tightened around hers. "Not this time."

"You're pregnant, aren't you?" Sarah's voice was solemn.

Sam's eyes widened and she whirled around. "How did—"

"I _am_ the village's unofficial midwife." Sarah smiled a little. "I recognise the signs. You've been throwing up in the evenings. Just like you did when you were expecting David. And you can't stand the smell of cooking _gindrake_ roots. Frankly, I expected you to tell me sooner." Her eyes softened as she squeezed Sam's hand. "Did John know?"

Sam sighed, staring at Sarah's hand upon hers, feeling no urge to remove it. "He suspected. Said he recognised the signs too." A fresh bout of tears ran down her face. "I don't know what to do, Sarah. You know what happened last time."

"Yes. It's a risk, but you're not alone," Sarah said matter-of-factly. "We'll take care of you until John gets back."

"You really think he's alive?"

"Yes. Whatever happened to him, he'll return, so you better be in shape when he does or he'll give me hell." Smirking, Sarah stood up and gestured to her. "So, get up on your feet, Colonel, because you're going to come back inside to eat and sleep and heal. No point arguing."

Despite it all, Sam chuckled and took Sarah's offered hand, and it felt – for the tiniest moment – good.

**TBC**


	2. Leave a light on in the wild

**2**

* * *

Leave a light on in the wild

Cause I'm coming in a little blind

Dreamer of a lighthouse in the woods

Shining a little light to bring us back home

" **Lighthouse",** _ **Patrick Watson**_

* * *

_The walls enclosed him. John had felt this sensation before, years ago. He pulled himself out of unconsciousness and opened his eyes._

_White webbing held everything except his head in place. All around him, there was a shade of dark, murky red. Except for the Wraith Commander barring his teeth at him in the equivalent of a human grin._

" _I thought you were dead, Sheppard."_

" _Todd," John growled. Out of all the Wraiths to stumble upon their planet, it had to be him. "I shoulda figured."_

_The Wraith nicknamed Todd let out a low sound that seemed like a chuckle. "You sound disappointed, Sheppard. Last time I saw you, we were something like…allies."_

" _Allies don't ditch each other first chance they get," John said, gritting his teeth. He pushed against the webbing, testing its hold, but he couldn't move a finger. "Then again, you're nothing but a coward, aren't you?"_

_Todd shrugged as if the accusation meant nothing to him. "My mission was accomplished."_

"Your _mission?" John narrowed his eyes. It shouldn't come as a surprise; each time they'd worked together with the Wraith, there'd always been a second agenda. But even after seven years, the failed attack on the Asurans stung. There'd been too many KIAs. Too many friends were lost._

" _Yes," Todd said, barring his teeth again in a grin. "But it is not of your concern, Sheppard. It has been many years since then. A lot has happened."_

" _What's your plan for us?" John asked, his voice low. He knew others had been taken before him, but not how many. First chance he got, he'd take stock. "Food?"_

_Todd surveyed him for a moment._

" _Perhaps," he said eventually. "Perhaps not. This was quite a surprise for me, Sheppard. I had no idea there were any Atlanteans left in this galaxy. After all…your people left with the City of the Ancients seven years ago." Todd leaned closer, the stench of him vile in John's nostrils. "And I think you know where."_

_John's insides twisted. He knew exactly where Atlantis would go. He and Sam had discussed it many times. After the failed attack on the Asuran home world, there'd be no doubt that the IOA would push to have the city return to Earth; the biggest and densest population of humans in three galaxies._

" _I think I will keep you and your people for information, Sheppard." Todd stepped back and turned to leave. "At least…for now."_

* * *

The familiar sensation of being completely stuck in place was the first that came to mind as John struggled out of the fuzzy blackness. A whitish, slick face towered over him, making him groan.

"You still here then, Crapface?" he croaked.

Todd barred his teeth. "The location, Sheppard."

God, John hurt all over. It felt like every nerve in his body had been lit up like a Christmas tree and wrung through an electrical fence and then fed through a wood chipper, only to hit the 'rewind' button and move back again at excruciatingly slow speed. His mind felt fuzzier, and his thoughts were growing more jumbled and hard to grasp. As always, John focused on what he could recall of Sam and David's faces. Even those had started to become blurry.

Gritting his teeth, John said, "Like I've told you before, shitbrain, over my dead body."

Todd hovered silently in front of him, yellow eyes boring into him. John barely managed to hold his gaze. "One day, you will have your wish granted, Sheppard. But not today."

Todd turned to his 2IC and they obviously had some sort of telepathic conversation going on. John didn't mind being left out. He was too busy breathing through the lingering pain, seeing as Todd had stopped long ago to completely return his life force to him. But they'd been through this game before. Like then, John wasn't about to give in. There was too much at stake. Not just Earth, but Sam, David and perhaps one more…his _family_ … They had to be protected. If Todd got to them before him…anything could happen. The Wraith might even be desperate enough at this point to feed on the kids; from what John had picked up, the Asurans were still kicking their collective asses all around Pegasus.

The 2IC turned to John when Todd left, pushing a button that released John from the constricting webbing. He collapsed to his knees, groaning as needle-pricks of pain coursed through him.

"Take him back to his cell," the Wraith ordered. "And bring the next."

"What, no encore, Frank?" John gazed up at Todd's 2IC, the bravado a second skin to him by now. It earned him a nasty backhand, causing John's jaw to snap sideways. He groaned, massaging his jaw as he raised his head. "You're really touchy, you know that, Frank?"

The 2IC barred his teeth in a vicious snarl, then turned on his heel and stalked out after Todd. Two Drones stepped forward and grabbed John under the armpits, pulling him after them as they exited the research chamber. John didn't try to walk. He knew it'd be pointless with his level of strength at the moment. Instead, he let them drag him between them.

The path through Todd's Hive ship had become familiar. Left turn there, then the third corridor on the right, followed by a long and winding corridor that went past a number of open cathedral-sized chambers – the sleeping pods, John recalled – and then down two levels to the cells.

When he was finally thrown inside an open cell, landing in a heap on the floor, John bit back any smart quips and groaned loudly. " _Fuck_."

"You look like shit, sir." It was Ramirez. He leaned over John, battered and bruised like the rest of them, with a few more grey strands in his hair and lines in his face.

"I feel like shit, too." John allowed Ramirez to pull him up to a sitting position, then shuffled over to lean his back against the wall. Cracking his eyes open, he saw only eight other occupants in the cell stare at him.

_So they chose Roe this time._

Pushing the uncomfortable fact to the back of his mind, John raised an eyebrow at all the worried stares directed at him. "Miss me?"

Ronon snorted. "Only if you got anything new."

"Nah, no luck," John said, wincing as he shifted in his seat. The left side of his face where Frank had landed his final punch felt stiff and sore, and his lip was split. There'd be a bruise later. Just one more added to his collection. "They know we're listening."

An unspoken, collective sigh went through the cell.

"Well, there's always tomorrow," said Ramirez, shrugging as he leaned back against the wall. No one replied.

* * *

_From what he guessed, John was alone in the cell chamber for over a week. Todd didn't bring him back for further questioning, but left him to wallow in his own thoughts. The Drones stationed outside his cell wouldn't give up any information. John didn't even know if they_ could _talk. But he desperately wanted information. His mind kept going down darker and murkier paths, each worse than the last._

_Had Sam and David made it to the forest? Did Ronon protect them or did he fail? How many else had been taken? How many were already dead?_

_There were no answers for him. Only sleepless nights spent pacing around the cell, measuring it, probing its weaknesses and plotting a way to get out. More than once, he wished Rodney were there. He'd find a way to get out. He usually did. But John didn't. He'd been stripped of everything, even his clothes. And ideas._

_Then one day – or night – John woke up from his slumber to hear the cell door opening. Before he could react, however, what seemed like a couple of heavy weights was thrown inside, landing all over him. When he finally managed to disentangle himself, the door was closed._

" _Damnit!" John punched the webbing that constituted as the cell door. "You could at least give me my clothes!"_

" _Sheppard?" That was Ronon's voice._

_It was like a bucket of ice water thrown over his head. John turned, seeing a naked Ronon and Sergeant Ramirez getting to their feet. They held bundles of clothes in their hands._

" _What_ the hell _are you doing here?" John asked immediately, anger flashing to the forefront of his mind, clouding everything else._

_Ronon raised an eyebrow. "Same as you."_

" _No. No," John said angrily. He approached Ronon quickly and jabbed a finger into his chest. "You can't be here, because that means_ they're _here too. Because I left their lives in your goddamn hands!"_

" _They're not here, Sheppard," Ronon said, unfazed by John's jabbing. "They're safe."_

" _How can_ you _know that?" John was practically beyond reasoning. "Goddamnit, Chewy, you were supposed to stay there to protect them!"_

" _I did," Ronon said. "I made sure they got away. And they're not here; never were, so they're safe."_

_Fists clenched, John prepared to retort, but Ramirez got ahead of him. "He's right, sir. No one's seen them on board. Word would've gotten around. So they must still be back on the planet along with the others."_

" _You think that's good enough after what's just happened to us?" John clenched his fists and eyed Ronon angrily, beginning to shake. "They know. The Wraith will find them. And—and they'll—"_

_The words stopped in his mouth, too overwhelming – too terrible – to come out._

_After a long moment of silence, Ronon raised an eyebrow. "You done?"_

_Breathing heavily, John glared at him, but didn't respond._

_Ronon held out a bundle of cloth. "You might wanna put some clothes on. They're bringing more people in here. Not everyone wants to see your skinny ass, Sheppard."_

* * *

" _NO!" The pain in her voice hit him like a freight train. Such horrific pain, and he was doing it. He dealt it to her. But John forced himself to turn to her anyway, to meet her eyes as the beam from the Wraith Dart inched closer, and to open his mouth to—_

"No!"

John sat bolt upright, mind crashing back to reality as soon as he locked eyes on the source of the shout. Hutchinson was banging on the webbed cell door, shouting down after two disappearing Drones. "You goddamned vampires! Get back here! You fuc—"

"Mick."

Ramirez's address was calm, but it had the effect of immediately gaining Hutchinson's attention. John's eyes swept to the sergeant, who sat kneeling down next to a huddled form. It only took a second to realise the situation.

"Michael, it's okay." Winona Roe's voice was gravelled, broken, hoarse, but not the kind that'd screamed for days. It went with the wispy white hair and the long, worn, wrinkled face with aging spots on it that hadn't been there this morning. She was cradled in Corporal Thompson's arms, one arm reaching for Hutchinson. Hutchinson stood staring at it like he wouldn't go near it with a ten-foot pole.

"It's not fucking okay," Private Durani said lowly, standing close, arms crossed. "None of this is okay."

Roe gave a weak chuckle that turned into a cough. "I know. It's really unfair. But I knew this day would come. So it's okay. For me, it's okay."

Wincing, John ignored his own pain and moved closer. He took Roe's outstretched hand and squeezed with both of his, but the words remained stuck in his throat. This wasn't a time for platitudes. They'd seen too much, lost too much, for that.

Roe's white-filled eyes met his. "I didn't tell them anything, sir."

John's chest tightened a little as he managed a small smile. "Good."

"Please tell—" Roe stopped. For a moment, her serene façade wavered. Tears welled up into her eyes, spilling down her wrinkled cheeks.

"We will," said Ramirez, knowing both who and what Roe was talking about. "You just take it easy, Roe. We'll handle it from here."

Roe smiled. And died.

* * *

_After seven years, he knew them all. They'd been a family, a community that shared everything – the highs and lows. The threats and dangers, the moments of grief and joy. He knew their children – David's playmates – and he couldn't help feel that with each death, he was tearing apart. And there was no Sam to hold him together. No David to cheer him up and remind him of the good things in life, of the miracles that could happen._

_When John first woke up in captivity, they'd been thirty men and women, but thankfully no children. After the first two weeks, they were down to twenty-two. At the end of the month, they were twelve. One by one, slow or fast, they were dying. Eaten, tortured, brought back to life and always asked the same questions._

_It was hard. Maybe even harder than that first winter seven years ago. Although John eventually began talking to Ronon again, his friend couldn't fill the gap Sam and David had left. So John clung to the thought that he'd made the right decision, and forced himself for a while to believe that they were, as Ronon claimed, safe._

_But watching his other family die…to see the moments of unselfish love and loyalty, the comradeship in this time of adversity, and the lengths they'd go to save each other or find a way home… John found himself returning to a familiar ground. He cut himself off. He denied the feelings access. It was the only way he could survive._

_And he had to survive, because he didn't leave people behind. Despite Ronon's belief, John knew Sam and David wouldn't be safe until every Wraith who knew their location was dead. He couldn't lose them, so he had to do something. He had to get his other family out of there._

* * *

"We should've gotten out the first time," said Hutchinson. He sat in the opposite corner, his pale face covered in fresh scars, his foot tapping restlessly on the floor. "And the second. Now it's just the seven of us left and they're doing all their talking in their damn minds!"

Cracking his eyes open, John eyed Hutchinson narrowly. This was the fifth time today. His neck tensed. "We'll get out of here, Sergeant. Just gonna take some time."

Hutchinson scoffed and got to his feet, starting to pace in jerking movements. "Time's all we've had all along, and it's only fucked us up so far. It's been two months, dammit!"

"We know, Mick," Ramirez said from his seat next to John, rolling his eyes. He gestured to the others. "We've been here too. Just take it easy, okay?"

"Like you told Roe yesterday?" Hutchinson sneered, pacing more frantically. "You know damn well I can't just take it—" Hutchinson broke off as he reached the wall and suddenly punched it, breaking skin. "Argh! _Fuck! Goddamned vampire bastards!_ "

John saw the others skirt their eyes at each other in nervous tension as Hutchinson cradled his fist and began to pace again, muttering obscenities beneath his breath. This wasn't like him. He'd always been the calm one. If he was changing, it could only mean…

"Argh!" A sudden yell made everyone jump. Hutchinson had stopped and begun beating into the wall in a frenzied rush, screaming at the top of his voice.

Immediately, John's eyes met Ronon's across the cell. Ronon quickly got to his feet and gestured to Thompson. Together, they approached Hutchinson from two sides.

"Sergeant—"

The moment Ronon's hand landed on Hutchinson's shoulder with intention to restrain, the latter lashed out. With an enraged roar, the sergeant sent out a wild punch that strafed Thompson's face, then spun on his heel out of Ronon's grip and launched himself at Ronon. His eyes were wide and crazy, and he almost seemed to be frothing at the lips.

Recovering quickly, Thompson sidestepped Hutchinson and got behind him, while Ronon brought his arms up to keep the sergeant at a distance. Hutchinson's hands were outstretched, curled to strangle, but they missed Ronon's neck by an inch as Ronon's hands grasped his shoulders and pushed back.

In one swift movement, Ronon and Thompson wrestled the sergeant to the floor, and managed to get his arms locked behind him. But as Hutchinson continued to struggle with near inhuman strength, Ramirez and Durani hurried over at John's command and held the man's legs in place. John wasn't sure whether he should compare the sight to an epilepsy attack or a rabid dog being put down.

"He's getting worse," said Grayson, the closest thing they had to a medic, as he leaned down to check Hutchinson's pupil dilation and vitals. The sergeant continued to struggle against his captors. Grayson looked up at John, a mix of trepidation and resignation on his face. "It's definitely enzyme withdrawal, sir."

John's jaw tightened.

"You know the drill." John's voice was toneless as he stared at Hutchinson's still crazed eyes, which flickered as if he was trying to follow something invisible at the speed of light. They widened – _in fear…?_ – as Ronon and the others found scraps of clothing they would use to tie him up.

 _No_ , John told himself, trying to ignore the savage yells Hutchinson let out as they tied him up, or how it sometimes looked like there was indescribable terror in his eyes, _it looks like an epilepsy attack_.

None of them had been rabid dogs. They were his people. His family. And he was going to get them out of here. He had to.

* * *

_The first time they tried to escape had been the most promising. They'd had the element of surprise and weight of numbers. Overpowering the Drones coming to get them had been easy when they outnumbered them three-to-one and still had strength left. Ronon had even snapped their necks for good measure._

_Armed with the spear stunners, the people in John's cell had spread out to free the others. By this time, there'd been about twenty-eight of them. They got out, attacked more Drones, acquired weapons, and worked their way down to the Hive ship's hangar bays._

_It had looked good, even though the alarm went off. They'd reached the hangar bays—and then they were the ones outnumbered. Todd and his people had gotten ahead of them. They'd expected their destination once it was clear what was happening._

_In ten seconds, half of the group was stunned. John managed to evade them for two more minutes. Then he took a hit to the back and blacked out._

_When he woke up, they were twenty-two._

_John couldn't forgive himself, so next time, he decided a different course. He fashioned a makeshift shiv out of webbing and shoelaces, and tried to attack Todd's then-2IC, Barry, after an interrogation session while Todd was off-ship. He slit his throat and stabbed his feeding hand, then watched him die._

_After taking down two Drones on patrol, John freed the rest of them – they were only fifteen at this point. But their plan was bigger. They tried to sabotage the ship. Do the unconventional and unexpected. None of them could control it, so they wished to take it down. While the Wraith were busy repairing the damage, they would once again try to make it to the hangar bays._

_For a while, it looked like it would work. Then they were pinned down in the power chamber and taken by overwhelming numbers. Todd punished them by claiming three more lives. John was forced to watch. He was their leader. Todd enjoyed seeing him squirm._

_After that, John locked down everything, every emotion and every thought. He wouldn't give Todd even an inch. And he swore that one day he'd kill him. No more mercy, no more supposedly allies. Todd had killed his family and threatened to take the rest. He deserved to die._

_One day._

* * *

The cell chamber jolted heavily. John startled awake, immediately aware of his surroundings. All around him, the other survivors jerked up from their sleeping mats.

"What's going on?" Ramirez asked, just as the walls reverberated with more jolts and shakes. Out in the corridor, the power conduits sparked. "What the—?"

"Battle," Ronon said immediately. "They're under attack."

It was the most logical assumption. The shakes were almost rhythmical, spreading out like earthquakes from an epicentre. From what John could recall of Asuran ship weaponry, it seemed very similar. That is, if they weren't attacked by a different Hive ship.

"The guards are gone," Durani said, peering through the webbed door. "This could be our shot."

Everyone looked to John at her words. The atmosphere was heavy and tense.

Was this the chance they'd waited for or was it just a lure from Todd? The Wraith did after all enjoy a good hunt. Either way, John didn't know, but he knew they couldn't stay here anymore. He only had to meet Hutchinson's eyes in the corner to make a decision. The man was still tied-up and completely worn down. He was on the brink of defeat, imploring John with his eyes. Like John, he had someone waiting for him back home. He needed to get back.

"Thompson, Ronon, get the door." John got to his feet, wincing slightly as his limbs cracked painfully. Damn, he felt like an old man. "The rest of you, get ready. You know what to do."

"Third time's the charm, right?" Ramirez managed a small grin.

"Let's hope so." John didn't dare hope yet. Hope hadn't done a lot for him so far in this place. But he knew that back home, on the planet they'd eventually called Terra Nova, his family wanted him to come home. They _needed_ him to come home.

* * *

_Amidst the mounds of furs and sheets, David slumbered peacefully. John brushed back the mop of hair on his son's head, a soft smile on his face._

" _He really missed you," Sam said, standing in the doorway of David's room. The light from the living room behind her cast her body in shadows, but John could see the expression of contentment on her face. "He hasn't wanted to go to sleep for a week."_

" _Guess that means it's my turn trying to put the tyke to bed for the next week," John said, leaning down to press a kiss to David's forehead. The boy didn't stir, but his lips seemed to twitch for a brief second._

_Sam chuckled. "If you're volunteering." She pushed away from the doorframe as John approached her. "He's very stubborn."_

" _Gets that from you, no doubt," John teased, leaving the door ajar._

" _Pot – kettle – black." Sam punched him lightly in the shoulder. Smirking, John caught her hand, pulling her towards him. Her cane clattered to the floor as he hugged her close._

" _Mhm, you smell nice," John muttered into her hair. After a two-week hunt in the wild, her scent was heavenly. Frankly, everything about her was heavenly._

" _Ugh, you don't." Sam leaned back, her nose scrunched up. She pointed to the large wooden bathtub standing in the corner. "Either the bath house or the tub, mister. I'm not having you in bed smelling like that, John."_

" _Oh, that's cold," said John with a grin. He pulled her back into his arms and starting rubbing her against him. "Maybe this'll even things out."_

" _John!" Sam giggled, trying to break free._

" _See, now we both smell bad. Let's go to bed," said John, letting Sam go. She punched him in the arm again, but she wore a brilliant grin._

" _Bath, mister." Sam pointed at the door. "And hurry up. I missed you too."_

_John grinned, stole a kiss, and disappeared out of the house with a spare change of clothes._

* * *

John peered down the hallway for just a second, then pressed back against the small cavity in the wall he was hiding in. He signalled to Ronon and Ramirez, who were opposite of him, each clutching stun weapons they'd taken off a couple of Drones some levels up on the detention level.

Down the hallway, footsteps were running towards them, most likely answering some call to arms. The external battle was still going strong.

_Three—two—one—_

On John's signal, they jumped out of their hiding places and opened fire. The hallway became a blur of blue stunner shots. Blood pounded in John's ears and he saw nothing but the jerky movements of flailing Wraith Drones as they were taken by surprise.

Within a minute, the Drones were down. John quickly handed out stun weapons to Thompson and Durani, who came out now that the shooting was done. Behind them, Grayson supported an almost legless Hutchinson.

"Thompson, Durani, get up front. We're close to the hangar bays, so we should expect more activity. Don't waste your shots. Here," John handed his weapon to Grayson, exchanging it for Hutchinson. "Cover our rear, Doc."

"You should leave me behind, sir." Hutchinson's voice was weak. "I'll only slow you down."

"Like hell, sergeant," John muttered. "You're going home. We all are."

Hutchinson scoffed mirthlessly. "What's home, sir? I can't even remember their faces. Two months, and I've forgotten my son's face. What father does that?"

John felt a chill go down his spine. "It's the enzyme withdrawal. You're not thinking straight. You'll remember, Mick. Just hang on. We'll get out of here. You'll see them again."

Hutchinson didn't answer. He just slumped against John; barely able to keep his feet steady beneath him as they moved on. For his part, John filled his mind with memories.

* * *

" _Daddy, look, look!" David's peals of laughter rang out from the palisade walls. "It flies!"_

_Wiping sweat off his brow, John rested the axe on the chopping block and shielded his eyes. High up above the palisade walls, he spotted a white kite twisting in the air._

_John grinned and traced the thread back to where David and Evan stood on top of the walls, both jumping up and down in excitement behind the safety railing._

_Hutchinson stood next to them, saying something John couldn't hear and then leaning down to adjust David's grip on the thread. David hardly seemed to notice him. His wide eyes were solely on the kite._

" _You're doing great, kid!" John called up to David, but like with Hutchinson, John doubted David noticed him._

" _Wonder where he gets his fascination with flying objects." Sam appeared next to him with two cups of ice-cold water in her hands. She offered one of them to him, a twinkle in her eyes._

" _Sure he's our kid?" John replied in kind, earning him a familiar punch in the arm. He grinned and gulped down the cold water, returning his eyes to David, Evan and Hutchinson._

" _One day he'll want to fly," Sam said wistfully, watching as Hutchinson transferred the thread of the kite from David to Evan. "We should childproof the roof."_

_John chuckled, handing back the now empty cup. "Maybe we should just settle for a parachute." When he didn't get a response, John raised an eyebrow. Sam looked lost in thought. "Something on your mind?"_

_Smiling, Sam unfroze and drank her own water. "He's just growing up so fast. They all are."_

" _That's the way it goes," John said, stepping up to her and dropping a kiss onto her forehead. "We'll be really old before we know it. Like grandparents old, sitting out on the front porch and complaining about the noise."_

_Sam laughed. "Somehow I can't picture you like that. Sitting still."_

" _Well," John grinned, "There's always the option to go do something crazy. Like skinny dipping."_

" _At 80?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "I doubt anyone but me would want to see your wrinkled butt, John."_

" _Who said anything about other people seeing it?" John wriggled his eyebrows. "Only need you, babe."_

" _Babe?" Sam's eyes twinkled._

_Scratching his head, John grimaced. "Yeah…that sounded wrong even as I said it."_

* * *

Manoeuvring Hutchinson's half-limp body through hallways that constantly shook with weapons impact was tiring, but John gritted his teeth and pushed on. 'Leave no man behind.' The saying went through his mind like a mantra as they fought their way down two more levels.

Even so, when Ronon made the signal to stop, John was glad for the break. He eased Hutchinson down against a crevice in the wall and stepped back, gasping slightly for breath. He looked up as Ronon approached him. "What's going on?"

"Obstruction," Ronon said. He nodded up ahead. About six metres away, the hallway ceiling had collapsed. "We'll have to get around it."

"Just when I was starting to think we'd finally get out of here…" Durani said, kicking a piece of debris in frustration.

"Hey," John said sharply, "it's just a minor setback."

"Well, we're on the right level at least," said Ramirez, scoping down two other hallways branching out behind them. "The one on the left back here should—"

The world around them exploded.

One minute, John was staring at Ramirez, the next he was on his back, a large pile of debris covering him. His ears were ringing, muting all other sounds. Blinding strikes of pain shot up and down his left arm. John grimaced and swore, struggling to get the debris off him. It didn't work. It was like all the strength had left him.

_Goddamnit._

"Ronon!" John shouted, or at least he thought so. He couldn't hear a damn thing. He could just feel the vibrations of more explosions or weapons impact or whatever the hell it was. Each jolt rocked the pile of debris, shifting the weight onto his injured arm and his chest, making it difficult to breathe.

Then, just as he'd resolved to try again, John felt the weight begin to lift. Relief surged through him and he began to push with his good arm, the left locked beneath a heavy chunk of what was most likely the wall.

Light streamed in through a crack in the debris and John spluttered, coughing up dust or sand or whatever it was. Fresh air hit his hot skin. He inhaled gratefully, the weight now off his chest. He opened his eyes and saw Ramirez, covered in dust from top till toe.

Ramirez held out his hand. John accepted it and let himself be pulled to his feet. "—one—us—ir."

"What?" John asked, his ears still ringing. He peered around them and saw that everyone seemed to be in one piece. They were all getting to their feet, at least.

"I said someone must love us, sir," Ramirez repeated, obviously speaking louder. He gestured to what John saw now was a giant hole in the wall. "The hangar bays are right on the other side."

"What's our sitrep?"

"Cuts and bruises, maybe some broken bones, but alive, sir," Ramirez said, speaking close to John's ear. "We should move now, sir, while we've got the chance. The Wraith could be coming here any minute to check the damages."

"Okay," John said, feeling fuzzy and unsteady, but recognising the time pressure.

"You heard the man! Let's go, people." Ramirez stooped and picked up Hutchinson, who'd taken a blow to the head and was bleeding from a cut on the forehead. Grayson supported Durani, who limped between him and Thompson through the jagged hole in the wall.

Coming up to his side, Ronon gave John a questioning look, to which John simply shook his head. He was fine. Well, his left arm seemed shot, but he could walk, at least. He followed Ronon through the hole, past the burning hulk of what appeared to be a Wraith dart – it must have crash-landed and caused the explosion – and exiting into the cavernous hangar bays.

There was no resistance. It was like a dream. They just walked up to the nearest Wraith dart and Ronon helped situate John in the cockpit. Then he powered it up, swept up the others with the culling beam, and set off.

Once he left the hangar bays, John realised why there was so little resistance. The sensors told him Todd's Hive ship and two accompanying cruisers were too busy fending off three Asuran ships. A flurry of Wraith darts and Asuran fighters swarmed between the larger ships. John couldn't see them – Wraith darts didn't have windows – but he followed them on the unfamiliar sensor screens as he set off towards the planet beneath the battle.

There was a stargate down there. The Wraith dart picked it up. John entered the atmosphere with bated breath, waiting for someone to realise that one of the darts had taken a different route than the others and come after them, but no one pursued.

Within five minutes, John had input the coordinates to the first place he could think of and soared through the event horizon. But it wasn't until he let out the others from beam storage and exited the dart into a flush, green forest with humid, fruity air that John realised they were free.

The others looked at him. They were beaten down, worn out and sporting more grey in their hair than normal, but one by one they grinned. Their injuries didn't matter. Their loss of life didn't matter. They were finally free.

As the others cheered, John sank down on the forest floor and leaned back against a tree trunk. He inhaled, letting the fresh air fill him completely, and then let it out in one long exhale.

_I'm coming, Sam. I'm coming._

* * *

**TBC**


	3. When the night is overcome

**3**

* * *

May it be the shadow's call will fly away,  
May it be you journey on to light the day.  
When the night is overcome,  
You may rise to find the sun.

" **May It Be", Enya**

* * *

In a soundless blaze of colours, one of the Wraith cruisers disappeared from the battlefield, taking a group of Darts and two unfortunate Asuran fighters with it. Darien had no time to think about their loss, however. It was to be expected when up against the Wraith. They were all prepared to die.

The bridge of the Asuran ship  _Gael_ was silent, but the back of each technician's mind was teeming with information and messages going back and forth at speeds too fast for a human or even a Wraith to comprehend.

_Three Darts in the fourth quadrant. Redirecting drones._

Hydea  _has taken a hit to the sublight engines. Compensating energy loss and bypassing primary conductors._

_Move_ Gael _to_ Hydea's _left flank._

_Moving._

_Drone capacity at 43 per cent. Potential jam in tube Beta 6. Technicians en route._

_Fighter Altea losing power._

_Altea, aim for the Hive ship's sector 36, section 29._

_All ships, concentrate fire on sector 36, section 29._

Commands and counter-commands passed through Darien's nanite synapses without interference, his fingers running over the controls in response. In return, he sent back sensory information of everything going on outside the ship, providing targeting information for each potential Dart, Cruiser and Hive ship he could come across.

Normally, there was no need to divert neural processing power to anything other than his primary task, but then his console pinged. Darian almost froze and his sensory information gathering was cut down by more than seventy per cent.

_It's not possible._

Hundreds of voices broke out amidst the combat chatter, all uttering the same astonished phrase. As what he was seeing transmitted to everyone else, more cogs in the Asuran hive machine halted momentarily, giving the Wraith an edge over them. Three Asuran fighters were taken down in the intermission before the others got back to their primary task.

Darien, however, was immediately reassigned to a new primary task while someone else took over his previous one. Tracking the sole Wraith Dart as it entered the atmosphere of the planet below, a smaller part of his synapses came alive with the first individual thought since the battle began:  _They're alive?_

_Don't lose them._ A new voice spoke directly to his consciousness, bearing their leader's identification code.  _We are on our way._

Darien was momentarily stunned. The high command ship was not part of this battle; it usually stayed behind at a safe distance. If it was suddenly coming here…

_They are headed for the planet's stargate,_ Darien responded at once over the subspace network, taking in the latest targeting information.  _It has begun its dialling sequence._

A hint of desperation seemed to enter the leader's code.  _Fighter Quarran, pursue Wraith dart Alpha. All ships, provide cover._

In a rush of motion, the Asuran ships moved at high speed to get in between the enemy and the fighter  _Quarran_. Collision warnings sounded above the increased chatter, weapons impact intensified, and yet Darien knew it wouldn't be enough.

_Stargate just disconnected,_  he reported with a sense of failure.  _Wraith dart Alpha is gone._

For a while, there was nothing. Then:  _Quarran, break off pursuit. All ships, focus on the Hive ship. Take it down or drive it off. We are on our way._

Darien's primary task changed once more and he was back on external sensors.

However, that small individual part of his consciousness didn't stop thinking about the Atlantean locator beacons he'd just seen disappear through the stargate. He'd thought all the Earthborn were gone from Pegasus. If they were still around…

_Darien._ Their leader's voice addressed him directly once more. _Eyes on the job._

_Yes, ma'am._

* * *

**One month later**

The rain was pouring down, reducing visibility to almost zero and making the shapes moving around in the haze nothing more than faint silhouettes. They looked like ghosts and maybe that term was fitting. Despite all the hardships they'd suffered and the extra tough skin they'd grown, the Wraith attack had thrown them off guard. No one had had a celebration or laughed in weeks. Instead, people's faces were drawn and exhausted as if in an unspoken period of mourning. Even the children were less boisterous, as if sensing the adults' underlying severity and adapting to it.

It broke Sam's heart, one agonising piece after another.

The wind was sharp and jagged, penetrating her leather coat and thick furry clothes underneath. She only felt it distantly, however, as if the elements couldn't physically affect her anymore. As if this latest blow had made her void of any emotions and sensations at all.

"I'm not sure if we'll be able to harvest everything in time." Sam's voice only barely carried over the gales of wind beating against her ears. "There's so few of us left."

"Everyone's doing their best." Standing beside her, Sarah poured a cup of hot broth and handed it to Sam. Rain slapped down at the other woman's bare skin and Sam could see it'd already reddened in response to the colder weather. "We'll make do. Always had."

Wrapping her stiff and cold fingers around the cup, Sam drank slowly. The hot liquid and spices were familiar, but they did nothing to ease her worries. There were simply too many of them. With so many lost in the culling…

"David asked if he could come too." A lump formed in Sam's throat as she recalled her son's crestfallen face before she'd left the warmth of their house earlier. "He wanted to help."

Sarah paused. "At some point, we'll have to consider it. These are skills they'll need to learn."

Sam knew that and still… She blinked away sudden tears. "He's not even four."

"I know," Sarah said gently. Her eyes flicked to the fields ahead of them, searching for the tall and short shapes of her husband and daughter. Standing this close, Sam could see the shared worry in Sarah's eyes and she rested a hand on the woman's arm. Sarah gave her a little smile. "We'll be all right."

Sam wanted to believe that. She really did. After all, they'd been through worse. They'd seen their friends die in front of them from injuries and cold without being able to do anything; they'd survived a crash, several winters, sickness, and animal attacks… What was one more attack? What was one more loss?

"He should be here," Sam said heavily, hand drawn unconsciously to the barely noticeable swell beneath her thick clothes.

Sarah gripped Sam's hand and squeezed. "Yes, he should."

* * *

Everything ached. Everything was hot. No clouds and high humidity made the heat beat down on them like Muhammad Ali's right fist, setting their lungs on fire. Struggling through the jungle undergrowth, swatting away flies and releasing a string of curses beneath his breath, John felt liable to kill the next person to open his mouth.

Which was probably why no one said a word.

It was a relief when the thickest part of the jungle suddenly gave way to more sparsely populated trees, signalling the end of their journey was getting near. The air seemed to freshen up as well, filling John's lungs with less searing heat than before. He could hear the trickle of water and felt hopeful.

"This is it," John said as he passed through the trees more quickly towards the bright light in the distance. His legs took longer strides, faster and faster until he almost ran, taking no heed to his broken arm.

But when he finally reached their destination, he stopped short. He stared for a moment, then balled his healthy fist and struck the trunk of the tree next to him.

"Oh  _fuck_!" Ever the eloquent one, Ramirez spoke for all of them.

John gritted his teeth, still unsatisfied with the numb pain spreading in his fist. Too little. It was always too  _damn_  little and too late.

"That was the last on our list, wasn't it?" Falling down to her knees on the edge of the cliff they were currently standing on, Durani let her makeshift bag slump to the ground with a dull thud. Her black hair was plastered to her skull, her clothes sticking to her skin, but the sweat could not hide the exhausted tears falling down her grimy face.

Thumping the tree again and again, trying desperately to beat back the hollow feeling in his chest, John cursed beneath his breath and squeezed his eyes shut. Ronon's brief grasp on his shoulder made him open them, forcing him to look reality in the eye.

Twenty-six days of freedom and nothing had changed. They were still on their own. They were still so damn far away from home. The Wraith hadn't broken them, but this walking hell was getting them damn close to the edge.

And right on that other side of the edge was proof that John and Atlantis had screwed up. The once flourishing civilisation of an agricultural people called the Javidi was gone, replaced instead by a devastating battlefield of ruins and scorched earth that stretched as far as their eyes could see. From this distance, John could see a few optimistic vines and bushes trying to cover up the years-old destruction, but it was pointless.

There was no customary humour in John's tone when he spoke. "Seven years and you'd think the almighty Wraith would've figured out how to turn off the damn Asuran attack code. It's like they're not even trying."

" _We're_  still alive," said Ronon.

John swore again beneath his breath, turning automatically away from the others lest they hear the argument that was damn sure going to unfold. "Getting  _really_  tired of hearing that, big guy."

"Can't do much when you're dead." Always so matter-of-factly. Always some cheeky reply to whatever John said. It was driving him up the walls, or trees, or whatever.

He tilted his head slightly towards Ronon, hissing, "You call this  _alive_?"

The Satedan's dark eyes only narrowed. The pain in John's still-healing broken left arm flared up, no doubt responding to the arduous trek through the jungle previously. Gritting his teeth, he rubbed the rudimentary cast Grayson had fashioned more than three weeks ago, cursing the heat, cursing the dull pain, cursing the damn Wraith and the Asurans and Atlantis for leaving them all behind to deal with this shitty mess and and and—

John's right fist met the nearest tree and his knuckles split, and the word he'd suppressed for so long finally tore itself past his vocal chords in a prolonged " _Fuck_!"

Then, blood pounding in his ears, he stormed back the way they'd come. Whether the others followed or not, he didn't care. He just couldn't be  _here_. He just couldn't  _stand still_.

* * *

_Seventy-six lines were drawn in the dirt, followed by a question mark. After a moment of staring at them, John used the same thin branch to wipe them all out, erasing them from existence. Then he leaned back against the tree trunk and gazed up at the unfamiliar stars with a heavy sigh that echoed hollowly in his chest._

_No Pyxia. No compass to lead them home. No ship to take them there either._   _Hadn't exactly taken them long to figure_ that _out once the high of escaping Todd's Hive ship had settled. Without a known stargate on Terra Nova, the only way to get there was by ship, and even that was going to be a nigh impossible challenge._

_"What'd you think?" His voice low, John expected an answer even without sensing Ronon's presence nearby. "Travelers, Earth or breaking into the ship we just left?"_

_"Not going back. Had enough of the Wraith," Ronon said lowly from the campfire behind John, just louder than the soft snores coming from the others. "Got no ship to reach the Travelers –_ **_if_ ** _they're still around. So… Earth."_

_"Which means we either gotta _hack a DHD to circumvent the eight chevron lockout, plus_ find a power source of some kind that can make the dial…" John scratched the edge of his rudimentary caste. Despite the painful throbbing in his broken arm, it was welcome. Anything to dull that other, more fundamental ache that'd haunted him for the past two months in captivity and which was starting to sneak up on him again. "…or we hope the Midway station's still operational and we can hijack one of the gates in the bridge to send us there."_

_"Gotta get stronger first. Find food and weapons, technology, maybe allies." By the sound of rustling, Ronon had shifted and gotten to his feet. Moments later, he crouched down next to John and held out a skewered squirrel-like creature that'd been roasted over the fire. "You didn't eat."_

_Age-old, ingrained discipline made John accept it and start eating, even if his stomach protested the sudden intake. They were soldiers again and he knew just as well as Ronon what that entailed. Whatever it took, they had to think about the mission. For so many years, it'd been the role he knew best of all._

But I'm not only that _, John thought as Ronon walked back to his seat by the fire._

_His eyes drifted back to the disturbed dirt at his feet, catching sight of a single line that'd escaped the carnage, and his insides twisted. With an angry scrape of his foot, the dirt was just dirt again, and John's jaws clamped tightly down on the skewered meat in his hand._

* * *

It took him the rest of the day to calm down. By the time he shuffled back into their current base – a camp set on the outskirts of a ghost town on M5V-801 – the others had already fallen into an exhausted sleep. Well, almost everyone. John saw Grayson's frame seated by the embers of their campfire, and exhaled heavily.

"It won't heal if you don't let it," Grayson said quietly as John, scratching the itch along the edge of the cast on his left arm, sat down next to him.

John knew he didn't mean the broken bones. He didn't have a response, though.

Grayson didn't seem to expect one either. Continuing without pause, he nodded towards the sleeping form of Hutchinson, which was curled up against a large rock. "I think Mick's ready. No relapse for three days. Coherent speech. Memory improving. Appetite restored."

As he spoke, Grayson picked up a skewered bird he'd clearly grilled on the fire earlier, handing it to John. Although the meat was cold, John wasn't picky. He couldn't afford to. But despite the hunger he felt, he quickly became full, leaving half the bird on the skewer.

He knew Grayson noticed. They all did.

John cleared his throat, his voice sounding foreign. "That's good. Glad he made it."

In the corner of his eye, he could see Grayson scrutinize him. John kept his eyes on the glowing embers of the fire, jaw tightening. The turmoil of emotions that'd kept him away all day threatened to rise past his defences again. He didn't want Grayson to witness that. He was supposed to be strong, and he wasn't. That stung.

"They're getting tired, John," the Doc said after a while. He stared at the other sleeping forms and exhaled heavily, reaching up to rub the ridge of his nose. John's stomach twisted. "I think we should  _all_  stay put for a little while. Get some rest. Clear our heads."

John's lips thinned, the aftertaste of the grilled bird turning bitter in his mouth. As his eyes swept across the rest of his team – his family – a familiar, claustrophobic sense of shame dislodged from the pit of his stomach, overpowering him, suppressing the hotness in his blood and making him shiver suddenly.

There wasn't really much he could say. No point denying what he'd done today when he'd decided to run off on his own, leaving the others behind. Wasn't the first time, either. John knew all too well that he'd failed them.

"Okay."

The word sounded so strange coming from his lips. John was painfully aware that it – that  _he_ – was not okay. So much for the soldier. So much for the leader. When push came to shove, he'd disappointed them all. And for all he'd done, for all he'd tried to do,  _time_  hadn't stopped running out.

Grayson grasped John's shoulder briefly, his tone gentle. "Get some sleep, John. New day tomorrow."

John only nodded distantly, trying very carefully not to let his emotions slip past his façade. He sensed more than watched Grayson rising tiredly to his feet and finding his own sleeping mat. In his wake, John looked around at each of the sleeping members of his team: his friends and family. Here, present, physically in front of him. Surviving day by day.

Each scene, narrated by Grayson's previous words, weighed him down. Even in the dim light, he knew how tired and worn down they looked. He saw them every day. He saw the way their eyes turned to him, and he saw how their eyes turned away, disappointed but too loyal to say it.

Throat constricting painfully, John quelled the renewed urge to run and found his eyes drifting up to the sky, trying to find those stars he missed more than he should allow himself to feel.

But they weren't there. All that looked back at him was the cold moon peeking out from behind a dark streak of clouds. Staring at him. Judging him. Finding him wanting.

* * *

_It'd been automatic at first. Secure the wreckage and put out any fires. Locate food, water, and shelter. Recover survivors from the wreck. Triage the wounded, bury the dead. Establish a perimeter. Gather all available supplies. Send off mayday signal if possible._

_It'd been effortless, easy. John just followed his training. No need to think, only act. Even as the final headcount came in and he'd seen four people die in front of his eyes, he'd been invincible._

_Until they'd found Rodney's body. Crushed underneath the engine room ceiling. Limp and lifeless as he was carried out of the wreckage, his face unrecognisable because of the wounds and clotted blood. John might even have believed it wasn't him. How could it? Rodney McKay had survived so much. Why not this?_

_But later that night, he'd studied him closer. He'd felt the cold skin, the now stiff limbs, and had washed off the worst of the dry blood. Even with his wounds, it was all Rodney. Stupid, brilliant Rodney, who – as it turned out – had worked with Sam to save them…and then sacrificed himself to save Sam._

_That was when denial turned to bargaining. That was when the truth – slowly, achingly – began to sink in. They were stranded. They were broken. They were dying._

_And alone at the top was John._

_It was the closest he'd come to hyperventilation. Shaking next to Rodney's body, the silent sobs had consumed him. Every time he thought he'd gotten it back under control, he'd spot another feature that was so intrinsically Rodney and the gasping continued. He'd gritted his teeth, fisted his hands, even turned away from the sight, but nothing had helped. Eventually, he'd stumbled away, across the perimeter and into the cold autumn night where time and distance finally numbed him._

_After that, loneliness had overwhelmed him, even with all those people around him. For some reason, it'd drawn him to Sam's bedside when everyone else had fallen asleep. In her unconscious state, she'd looked cold and vulnerable, and John couldn't help wonder if that was what Rodney had seen when he'd pushed her underneath a console before the crash: someone to protect._

_It didn't fit with the last memories John had of Sam while awake. She was strong. Maybe stronger than him. Tougher, in a sense. Despite all he'd seen, all he'd experienced, he would always fall short of the kind of wisdom she'd shown in the past six months. Compared to her, he was the perpetual runner-up. It wouldn't matter what he did; he'd always be the one who never quite measured up._

_So when she finally woke up, he was happy. He could eventually pass on the burden and instead assume the support position that he'd grown comfortable with; that he was good at. It was easier. No need to think, to_ **_feel._ ** _He could just do his duty and be done with it. No more need for friends. No more need for family._

_It took a while before he realised it'd been too late. Sometime during those weeks when she'd been unconscious, Sam had snuck under his skin: had made him want to protect her. And once there, he couldn't stop it. It kept him going. It gave him purpose._

_He made sure she ate. He gave her warmth on cold nights. He comforted her after her physical exercises. He talked with her. Laughed with her. Cried with her._

_And when she'd once, half-asleep, mumbled, "Stay with me," there hadn't been any other answer he could give than, "Always."_

* * *

Nature had already claimed this town. Birds and animals had replaced the humans that'd disappeared, most likely in a Wraith culling, and the boundary between the human domain and nature was broken. It wasn't uncommon to suddenly see a deer-like creature exit the open door of a house that'd been abandoned for years, or to find a bird's nest in the rafters or the fireplace.

Still, John and the others' presence over the past two weeks had disturbed the once tranquil circle of life. Whenever his feet turned him down the ghost town's main street, following the animal track that'd beaten down the waist-tall grass, the animals fled and the life that'd returned to this place was gone once more.

John tried not to let it sink in. Most days it worked, but today was special. Today, everything set him on edge; weighed him down; threatened to pull him straight into the abyss. He could feel it on the edge of his consciousness like a steady pressure that grew denser each day.

Rather than submit the others to his foul mood, he'd wandered off immediately after breakfast, all the while trying to ignore the silent stares he'd felt fixated on his back. Usually, walking helped, but today each step just pulled up memories: Broken worlds, missing communities, Wraith feeding on his friends, Asurans taking down the  _Apollo_ , Rodney's stiff and cold body, Sam white-faced and weak in bed, her eyes trailing after him as Doc Thomas forced him out of the room—

_Stop. Stop it. You can't go there. You—_

John gritted his teeth, feeling them crunch with the pressure. Annoyed, he pushed his muscles harder and stalked down the path until the numbness he sought finally came over him.

A short while later, ignoring the warmth of the sun, John entered the seventh house on the left side of the main street. The floorboards creaked under his weight, emphasising the stillness around him and the lack of reaction. No one drove him off their porch as he penetrated the privacy of their home.

It didn't take him long to find what he wanted. A dusty chest was pushed up against the wall next to the cold fireplace, small spider webs formed along the bottom.

John's exhale was heavy, no trace of humour in it. "I'm sorry."

No one replied as he opened the chest and began to rummage in the layers of clothing that lay within. Most of it was thick and woollen, which made him grimace. It'd be autumn back home. He didn't need the reminder. Not now. Not today.

Thankfully, there were no children's clothes in the chest. Although, maybe that was sad in itself. When John looked around the room, he could see the love that'd been here. Two sets of plates and cups on one side of the table, an open sewing box and a pile of handkerchiefs on the other. A heavy cloak hanging on the back of the front door. A well-organised kitchen with colourful dishcloths and oven mittens, now dusty and paled by penetrating sunlight.

His fist clenched around the thick material in his hand and John forced his eyes away, focusing on the task ahead of him.

Towards the bottom of the chest, his hand grasped thinner and softer material. He grabbed it and pulled it out of the pile of clothes on top of it. Shaking it out, he saw it was a linen shirt, the threads a mix of coarse and fine; a semi-formal dress shirt of some kind.

Sighing again, John said, "I'm sorry," to the empty room, and put the shirt aside for later. Then he delved into the chest again, pulling out a pair of trousers next. Both items of clothing seemed a bit too big for him, but it didn't matter. It was better than the clothes he already wore, which sported large tears and sticky spots in it after the previous week's trek across empty, war-ravaged planets.

After changing clothes, however, John stared at the tattered pieces he'd left in a messy pile on the floor, and at the disturbed trails of dust he'd left behind on the wooden floorboards. Then he looked around the living room again; at the careful, even thoughtful, placement of items that made no sense to John, but would've therefore meant the world to whoever had lived here.

Someone had maintained this place well; had loved it. It wasn't just a house. It was a  _home._

And suddenly, the tears were there; suppressed for so long, finally unleashed.

* * *

_Light touches ran across the jagged scars on his back, ghosting his skin and making it tingle pleasantly all over. Cocking his head to the side, John looked over his shoulder at Sam. "That's not exactly helping me relax."_

_Sam smirked. "Behave, John."_

_"Is Daddy being bad?" From the spot in front of the fireplace, David looked up from his toys with the sort of innocent wonder that always made Sam burst out laughing._

_"Very," Sam said as she picked up the jar of ointment from the kitchen table and dipped her fingers in it. John only rolled his eyes, which turned to a groan when Sam's fingers began to knead the ointment into his bruised shoulders._

_"What did you do?" David stood up with his wooden puddle jumper in hand and approached them inquisitively._

_"Your mom's joking, kiddo." John winced as Sam hit a particularly tense spot, sucked his breath in, and then let it out with a drawn-out exhale. The ointment was already starting to work its magic, warming up his muscles and forcing them to relax. "I'm always at my best behaviour."_

_"Nearly always," Sam added and jabbed a pressure point for good measure. At his groan, she chuckled and he made sure to glare back at her with the promise of revenge._

_"Does it hurt?" With big round eyes, David walked around to see what his mother was doing, and John could feel his little fingers start probing his back just below where Sam was working out the kinks._

_"Nah," John said, smiling a little. "Just a little stiff from the hunt."_

_"Oh. Okay. I wanna do that, too."_

_"Just a second, sweetie," Sam said patiently, rubbing John's muscles with the rest of the ointment in her hands. "Alright, come here."_

_She lifted David so that he could sit on the edge of the kitchen table, and he put his little toy Jumper next to the jar of ointment. Seconds later, John could feel his small hands attempt to do what Sam had done previously, though his pressure was much lighter and gentler than Sam's had been._

_Still, the whole thing made John smile. David's rubbing – well, maybe slapping was a better word – didn't manage to ease his muscles, but it didn't matter. This is what it felt like to be loved._

_To be happy._

_"By the way, John, the privy pit's getting full again. We'll have to empty it out."_

_John groaned. Talk about killing the perfect image. "You mean_ **_I_ ** _have to empty it out."_

_"Should be piece of cake for such a strong and handsome guy like yourself," Sam said and leaned down to kiss the side of his head._

_He could just_ **_feel_ ** _her grin on his skin and tilted his head to glare at her. "I should've known you had some ulterior motive when you offered to give me a massage."_

_Sam, however, just grinned and limped away towards the kitchen, cane in hand, to turn a boiling pot of water away from the fire._

_John turned with her, which suddenly caused David to slap his shoulder. "Daddy, behave! You must sit still."_

_Sam, predictably, laughed out loud._

_"Jeez, everyone's so bossy today." Rolling his eyes, John half-smirked and settled back in the chair to let David continue his not-so-effective massage. "All right, kiddo. Do your magic. Make Daddy better again."_

* * *

John was smiling when Ronon found him a while later. Sitting by the kitchen table, needle and thread in hand, he was fixing the holes in his old clothes as best as he could. There was something oddly comforting by it, reminding him of happier times when one of his primary concerns had been getting David to put on all his clothes – and keep them on; the kid was seemingly more warm-blooded than either of his parents.

Ronon's intrusion, however, broke the spell. "Where'd you go?"

Pulling the needle back and forth, John grimaced. He'd known the issue of yesterday would come up. It always did. Rather than responding with anger, though, he resigned immediately; he supposed that was progress.

"Harmony's planet."

He didn't need to elaborate. It wasn't the first time in the past few weeks that he'd stormed off to the castle ruins there to cool off after they'd first visited the planet and found it empty. He knew Ronon liked to keep track, though. Ever since the  _Daedalus'_  crash seven years ago, he'd insisted upon strength in numbers.

Now was no different; John could see the reminder in the Satedan's eyes. If they were to get home, they would only do so together. The things they'd seen around Pegasus so far had only strengthened that belief, and John didn't really disagree. He was just too wound up in things that shouldn't matter right now: thinking too much,  _feeling_  too much; unable to control it like he should.

He knew despair was a soldier's worst enemy and here he was – wallowing in it. He knew how the others must feel about that.

Breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth, John focused on the repair work in his hands. For each stitch, it got easier to breathe. For each pull of the needle, his pulse slowed, his mind cleared, and the overpowering sense of failure eased up.

"We'll be training Mick later." Ronon's voice was lower now, almost hushed, as if he sensed the tentative tranquillity of the moment that John fought so hard to achieve. "Could use a hand."

John's ministrations stilled, the sense of shame exposing itself again in the depths of his chest. He wanted to say, "Not sure I'd be wanted," but it felt so childish to say it out loud. Like he wasn't a hardened veteran. Like he hadn't been through this before.

Like he wasn't as strong as he'd hoped to be.

* * *

_"You're not alone, John."_

_That voice again. Sneaking under his skin. Penetrating deeper than anyone else had gone before, refusing to respect the walls he'd put up._

_John refused to look at her across the fire; refused to meet those fiery eyes set in a tired, weakened body; refused to let himself be touched by a woman who looked so vulnerable yet seemed so strong._

_He'd handled things so well after that night he'd sat by Rodney's body. He wouldn't allow her to tear down all his hard work. He wouldn't._

_"We're not an island," the voice continued. Softly, like it could easily disappear with just a small a gust of wind, and damn it if it didn't just breach even deeper beneath his skin. "We're not meant to."_

_"Funny how they didn't teach us that at the Academy," John grumbled._

_She chuckled lightly. "There are some things books can't teach us. Imagine my frustration when I realised_ **_that_ ** _."_

_Reluctantly, John looked up to meet her eyes. Those soulful, fiery, piercing eyes, set above a wide smile that erased the sickness and tiredness from her face. It was like she hadn't woken up from a coma three weeks ago._

_Sam's eyes softened as they met his. "You're not alone, John. We're all in this together. Whatever it takes."_

* * *

John's eyes blinked as the memory faded from his mind. Sam's voice echoed at the back of his mind, along with a sense of pressure on his shoulders. She'd often clutched them tightly like that, grounding him when he needed it.

Damn, he needed it.

Clearing his suddenly dry throat, John gestured to his needlework. "I'll be there. Just, uh, just gonna finish up here."

"You've improved." Ronon's tone was half serious, half amused. Even though the Satedan had been forced to learn the trade by necessity, he still found the entire concept of Atlanteans sewing their own clothes comical. After all, in his eyes they'd all been just a bunch of people who got all the basic necessities (and luxuries) handed to them on a silver platter with barely any effort on their part. Seven years on Terra Nova hadn't removed that idea entirely from his mind.

Sniggering unexpectedly, John eyed the lines of stitching he'd completed already. He knew Sam would've agreed. She was terrible at this, even after all the amount of practising she'd had in the past seven years, leaving it for him to fix all of David's torn pants and sweaters.

At least her cooking had improved. Although, he suspected she still snuck out bits and pieces from Sarah's kitchen and proclaimed it as her own work…

"I'll take your word for it," John said out loud, a smirk crossing his lips. He paused again and looked up at Ronon, hesitating. "Thanks."

It was more than just gratitude for the compliment.

Ronon knew that and shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal. He always did that and maybe he was right. After all, he'd lived through more than the rest of them. He knew that the only thing that mattered, was to keep going. To stay alive. All those other things…dwelling on the past…arguing about semantics…well, they didn't matter right now. There wasn't much they could do about them anyway.

They  _could,_ however, refuse to lie down. They  _could_  fight back.

And do their damndest to get back home.

* * *

_Despite the short amount of time that'd passed so far since their escape, John knew he would never get used to this. The quiet ghost towns, the barren wastelands: they were just proof that Atlantis had screwed up royally seven years ago and that the humans of Pegasus were paying the consequences._

_Whole civilisations gone with only these ghost towns to testify to their existence, and even those were slowly being worn down by time and consumed by nature. In a hundred years or so, they'd be completely gone. Without fanfare or resistance._

_"Damn, it's so quiet." Though they were hushed, Ramirez's words sounded abnormally loud, echoing down the town's main street and ricocheting between buildings that looked broken and worn-down in the twilight._

_"I keep expecting the Headless Hunter or something," Durani added in a whisper, to which Thompson gave a slightly strained chuckle._

_"Stay frosty."_

_It was all John could say, really. The place was getting to him, disabling the sense of humour he usually turned to in times like these. Up ahead, Ronon stood quietly, waiting for them to catch up. His head was on a swivel, peering slowly around at their surroundings with the kind of attentiveness that made John tense._

_"Hold," he told the others beneath his breath and moved ahead to join up with Ronon as the others crouched down in the tall grass that'd already overtaken the street. "Sitrep?"_

_Ronon paused, his head cocked slightly to the side. "We're not alone."_

_Tensing, John looked around carefully, trying not to appear too observant. "Survivors?"_

_"Not human," Ronon growled lowly._

_It spurred John into action. With quick hand signals, he told the others to take cover and watched them enter one of the buildings that seemed decently defensible. Ramirez stayed behind, keeping a lookout until John was also inside._

_"I'm gonna take a look around," Ronon said gruffly, moments before he took off down a side street with nothing but a makeshift spear and knife in hand._

_Knowing what Ronon was up to, John didn't waste time protesting. He hurried over to the building where the others had taken cover and quickly went inside, followed soon thereafter by Ramirez. Within a minute, he'd gotten an approximate idea of the building's layout and started giving out orders._

_"Thompson, Ramirez, cover the ground floor windows. Hutchinson, Durani, you've got upstairs, both back and front. Grayson and I will cover the back entrance down here. Stay in cover unless someone tries to break in."_

_"Is it humans, sir?" Thompson asked as she moved a table out of the way and hunkered down in the corner of the room._

_"No," John said simply and no one asked further questions. They knew the score. Armed with only makeshift weapons that served best in close quarters combat, the only sure way they'd get out of this alive was to escape detection. The other way was to throw caution to the wind and attack up close and personal against a species that specialised in that sort of thing._

_It was clear which one was preferable._

_John couldn't think about that, though. With his broken arm, he was practically useless unless he got in a lucky strike. Which was why he crouched down in an ambush position next to the back door and insisted Grayson take the other side, the one that'd give him the cover of the door if it opened._

_Then, knife in hand, all they could do was wait. Pulse slowing to a steady beat, John listened to the low sounds of shuffling as everyone got into position. The adrenaline flowing through his veins enhanced his senses, making everything seem twice as loud or clear._

_Soon though, all he could hear was Grayson's breathing. Outside, there was nothing. No animal sounds, no human sounds, and nothing in between._

_Just as John thought the ghost town might've gotten to them, however, there was a loud roar that could only belong to Ronon. Not a roar of pain, but of attack, and John tensed in anticipation, listening intently. The roar gave way to grunts and sounds of combat that grew louder and louder as Ronon and his enemy came closer to the building._

_"Main street," Thompson whispered just loud enough for John to hear. "Oh God."_

_"Quiet," John hissed, even as every cell in his body was crying for him to bolt over to the front of the house and come to Ronon's rescue._

_Another yell, more scuffling, but no sounds of Wraith stunners. John squeezed the knife in his hand tighter; sweat beginning to trickle down the back of his neck. His broken arm ached painfully._

_"Man's an animal," Ramirez whispered, and in the dimness, John could see the sergeant was grinning._

_The floor boards above creaked with movement as Durani and Hutchinson shifted, and John thought he heard a slight chuckle, but ignored it and focused on the area right outside his door._

_And then, before he knew it, all was silent again. Until heavy steps walked up the front of the house and the door opened._

_Covered in some kind of whitish fluid, spear and knife in hand, Ronon gave them all a feral grin. "Still alive."_

_Outside in the street, a Wraith commander lay sprawl-eagled on the ground. John bumped him with the sole of his shoe before looking back at Ronon with a slight smirk._

_"All right, Chewie. Keep a lookout while we see what we can salvage from this place." Shaking his head slightly in amusement, John stared at the others. They were smirking and grinning too, elated by this small yet important win. John hated to break that mood. "Quick salvage, then we better scramble. Doubt this guy is left all on his lonesome for long."_

_"All due respect, sir," Ramirez said with a cheeky grin. "So long as we've got Yoda here, I think we're okay."_

_Ronon grimaced. "Now I'm a Jedi?"_

_John clapped the big guy on the shoulder. "Maybe better than being a hairy alien."_

* * *

The peace of mind he'd painstakingly gained in town began to slip away once John heard the laughter coming from their camp site, which they'd set up outside of town out of respect for those who'd once lived there.

At the back of his mind, he was elated at the sound, realising abruptly that he hadn't heard it in a while. Seemed like Grayson had been right: even with the sense of urgency calling them to action, they'd clearly needed a break. There'd been too much darkness around them these past few months; too many dead ends in their search for human survivors and a way home. They needed to feel alive again. To put their minds on something different.

Rather than stay pleased with the sound of the others' laughter, however, John's stomach knotted with shame again, mixed with a solid dose of trepidation.

_I should've realised earlier,_ he thought with a grimace.  _I shouldn't have pushed them on._

Uneasy and not wanting to disturb their moment, John stopped right outside the campsite and leaned against a tree trunk, observing the scenes played out before him.

Thompson and Ronon stood a couple of steps behind Ramirez, twirling their knives as they waited their turn in what appeared to be a knife-throwing contest. Durani and Grayson were cooking something delicious in a pot over the campfire, the former grinning at the others' antics and the latter shaking his head slightly in resignation and amusement.

And sitting on a rock about halfway between Ramirez and the target tree, Hutchinson wore a tired smile; the kind Sam had given John seven years ago. The parallel wasn't lost on him.

"You throw like a sissy, Ramirez," Hutchinson said just as said sergeant flung his knife across the sunlit forest clearing. It burrowed deep into the trunk of a tree fifteen feet away, earning an immediate whoop from Ramirez.

"Who cares if it works, right?" Ramirez sauntered over to the tree, pulled out the knife with one powerful tug, and turned back with a cocky grin in Hutchinson's direction. With an extra elaborate flick, he flipped the knife up into the air and caught it again.

Thompson and Durani laughed out loud while Hutchinson shook his head in feigned disapproval, the smile on his otherwise drawn and worn face widening. Watching from the shadows, John smiled too. It'd been too long since he'd seen Hutchinson like that. The sight was heartening.

"You wanna end up a hedgehog, Miguel? Get outta the way," Thompson called out, preparing her throw.

"I'm goin', I'm goin'!" Taking his sweet time, Ramirez stepped out of range of Thompson's knife and watched as she flung it down the clearing. It almost hit right on top of his mark, embedding itself deeper than his.

"Hah!" Doing a little victory dance, Thompson gathered her knife and went to gloat to Ramirez in the form of a spontaneous song and jiggle, to which the rest of them laughed and called out similar teases for Ramirez to join in.

There was something so  _familiar_ about the whole thing that John, before he knew it, let out a chuckle of his own.

It was only when the noise died down that he realised they'd all heard him. Thompson and Durani looked caught off-guard, while Ramirez's eyes narrowed slightly, almost warily. Grayson, though, gave John a wide smile, and Ronon nodded in approval.

It was Hutchinson who broke the silence.

"Sir! You're just in time." The sergeant grinned as he gestured to Thompson and Ramirez. "Yoda's about to put both of these losers to shame."

At that, it seemed like the awkwardness of the moment just dissipated. Without missing a beat, Ramirez and Thompson gave Hutchinson scandalous glares and doled out a healthy dose of banter that only made the man's grin grow wider; looking as if he'd never been more alive than right this moment.

Soon, all of them wore similar expressions, including a reluctant John.

"You joining in, sir?" Durani asked John, indicating the knife-throwing contest.

John automatically looked to Grayson, who only shrugged. "You got a healthy right arm last time I checked."

"Looks like I am," John told Durani, smirking slightly. He couldn't help scratch along his casted arm, though, which felt stiff and achy after holding up the sewing earlier.

On the other side of the clearing, Ronon moved with lightening speed, flinging the knife before the other three contestants had registered it. Predictably, it hit better than either of the previous two.

"Best out of three," Ronon said as he handed the knife to John hilt-first.

With long-lost but familiar bravado, John smirked. "I should claim my prize already."

* * *

_Outside the cave, the winds were howling and possibly some of the winter beasts too by the sound of it. It brought back memories of similar nights spent in caves along the trail from_ Daedalus'  _wreckage to the south where they'd wound up settling down._

_The laughter, however, was different. It was loud, raucous – thanks to Ramirez – and liberating. John wasn't the kind to get all mushy, but there was something about that laughter, this camaraderie, that created a warmth of its own apart from the roaring campfire. It wasn't quite like being huddled skin-to-skin with Sam in front of the fireplace or underneath the furs in their bed, nor was it like those missions with Rodney, Teyla and Ronon where they'd camped outside and spent a few hours sharing stories and anecdotes._

_This was something different. Hunters brought together to wait out the storm, brothers-in-arms spending most of their days together and away from home, losing perhaps some inhibitions – again, thanks to Ramirez – and generally bonding in an entirely different way than John was used to. Perhaps it was the sense of living on the edge, of foreboding danger, which was a sensation that accompanied them constantly on this planet and especially on the hunt. After all, they were far from the creature comforts and security of Earth. A simple cut or the wrong thing to eat, and they could die._

_"Man, Ramirez, you're so full of shit," Thompson snorted, bringing her cup of Ramirez' moonshine to her lips. "I bet half those stories you tell is just pure BS."_

_"Second that," John added, smirking above the rim of his own cup. The strong alcohol trickled down his throat, heating up his insides._

_"_ **_Really_ ** _, sir? You too?" Ramirez glared at him with mock fury, then started towards the cup in John's hand. "That's it, pendejo, I want my moonshine back."_

_With a quick jerk, John kept the cup away from him, chuckling. Hutchinson and Thompson came to his rescue, wrestling Ramirez back until the three of them rolled on the ground like someone fresh out of the Academy. Some of the other hunters only shook their heads in exasperation._

_John's chuckle became a grin and he glanced at Ronon on the other side of the fire. The Satedan just rolled his eyes._

_This was how it was supposed to be, though. No more simply surviving. No more simply keeping one's head above water. This was how they were supposed to_ **_live_ ** _._

* * *

"It's good to see them like this," John said quietly as Ramirez, Thompson and Durani cheered Hutchinson on in his hand-to-hand fight with Ronon. Although the man was clearly out of shape and easily exhausted, he still got up each time Ronon mercilessly flipped him onto the ground.

Next to him, Grayson hummed in agreement. "It's easy to forget we've been in a similar situation before and what we needed to do to survive it." He glanced sideways at John, who was finishing off a grilled piece of meat, and nodded approvingly. "We've been dealt a poor hand – again – but it doesn't mean we're losing. Just gotta play our cards right."

Chewing thoughtfully, John didn't respond.

Grayson sighed slightly and leaned forward to stir the coals with an iron poker acquired in the town. "I know there'll be a time to mourn, but not yet."

At once reminded of his previous uneasiness, John raised an eyebrow at him and swallowed. "So you think we'll get home?"

"One way or another," Grayson said matter-of-factly, his jaw set determinedly. "This is a big galaxy, and we've experienced stranger things. Who knows, maybe it's just about dialling the right stargate at the right time and we'll somehow end up back in time as the wormhole passes through a solar flare."

Sam had experienced that, John recalled. However, the memory of her story didn't stay for long. Instead, his uneasiness grew once more, strengthened by Grayson's determination and the training scene on the other side of the clearing. Hutchinson was on the ground again, only this time he had difficulty getting up without Ronon's helping hand. Once he was up, though, the others were there to slap his back and bump his shoulder teasingly to see if he unbalanced.

John's appetite disappeared.

"John?" Grayson asked as John put down the remaining piece of meat in his hand.

"I…" The words didn't quite come to him, overshadowed by the lingering sense of shame that reared its ugly head once more. "Uh, I'm full. Thanks for the food."

"John…" Grayson's voice lowered and his tone was gentle, as if he knew what was going on inside John's mind. "It's okay. We've all been there. We  _know_ what it's like _._ "

Embarrassed that Grayson could so easily see through his mask, John rose abruptly to his feet, feeling the urge to run again. Beneath his skin, his emotions swirled quickly into turmoil, threatening to burst past his defences. "I need to go."

But Hutchinson's voice held him back. "You heading out, sir? Want company?"

Hesitating, John met Hutchinson's stare. The man was half supported by Ramirez as they walked back to the campfire; it looked like he kept moving forward by seemingly sheer willpower.

Even after all he'd been through, Mick hadn't given up.

"I'm sorry," John said suddenly.

It sounded gruff, like a dismissal, but John realised it was only to cover up the lump forming in his throat. His body began to shake with the urge to run, especially when he saw he'd gained the attention of the others as well; Durani, Thompson and Ronon had stopped their three-way training session to stare at him.

Hutchinson's eyes flashed with understanding. "You don't need to apologise, sir. We know."

"I let you down." The words were torn from his lips before John could hold them back.

"What are you talking about, sir?" Durani asked as she took a step forward. "You've kept us together."

"You've got nothing to apologise for, Colonel," Thompson said matter-of-factly.

"We don't forget, Sheppard," Ramirez said. "Durani is right: even with all the shit that's been thrown our way, you've made sure we stuck together; kept our heads on straight. Well, Yoda helped, I guess." The last was said with a grin cast in Ronon's direction, to which the Satedan snorted in mixed amusement and annoyance.

"We're in this together, sir. Always have been, always will." Hutchinson pushed away from Ramirez and wobbled slightly before regaining his balance, exposing how skinny and frail his body had gotten during the enzyme withdrawal process. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as if simply standing on his own two feet was a challenge.

A lump formed in John's throat, his eyesight getting slightly blurry.

"Thank you," he said hoarsely, thinking that he wasn't sure he deserved it. They made him sound like a hero-like character and he wasn't. If anyone were, it'd be  _them._

Hutchinson just smiled knowingly. "We'll see them again, sir. You told me that."

John froze.

* * *

_"Sometimes, I go to sleep and expect to wake up to find this is nothing more than a dream."_

_The words were spoken softly, almost to the point where they were inaudible. John turned to its speaker, heaviness permeating every layer of his body as the words hit home beneath the comfortable cloud of numbness that he used as a shield._

_In a moment of clarity from the enzyme withdrawal, Hutchinson's eyes were full of tears. "I need to get home, sir. I need to see them again. I-I can't die here."_

_"You won't." John's response was automatic by now. During the two months of captivity, he'd seen a quarter of his people – his family – succumb to the enzyme withdrawal. A few had made it, but the recovery had been hell. "You're gonna get through this, Mick. You're gonna survive. The Doc knows his stuff. And then we'll see them again."_

_Hutchinson sobbed at that, his body shaking violently against the bonds that kept him tied up to a tree until the withdrawal had passed. It was too harrowing to watch. Not that a man shed tears, but that someone as strong, calm, and loving as Hutchinson was breaking down and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it._

_And John, in a moment of weakness, turned away from the sight._

_No one said a word about it. Perhaps they felt the same. John didn't dare look into their eyes. Instead, self-consciously, he reached out his healthy hand to put it upon Hutchinson's shoulder, gripping it tightly. The man's sobs intensified for a second, then, after what seemed a very long time, he began to ease down and slumped heavily against his bonds, asleep._

_Only then did John really look at him. Like the rest, Hutchinson had lost a lot of weight, had shadows under his eyes, and sported some now-old bandages to cover the physical wounds acquired during their escape. His beard had grown out of control, his hair fell below his ears, and there was more grey and white in those strands than before._

_"Let's stay here for awhile."_

_John spoke the words heavily. Since the escape a week prior, there'd been a sense of urgency to get away quickly and to find their way back home. They'd only stayed a moment on that first planet before moving on to another in order to lose any Wraith pursuit. After that, they'd constantly been on the move, high from their escape and running on fumes of adrenaline._ _There was an advantage in that. After all, idleness was a soldier’s ultimate enemy. Too much time on their hands and it wouldn’t be the bullets they’d be scared of, but the thoughts they normally suppressed._

_But now, John's broken arm ached. Scratch that, his whole body ached, and he wondered if this was how Edmond Dantès had felt upon his long-sought escape from Château d'If. Dantès, however, had at least known his way home. Without a ship to reach Terra Nova, they were stuck. They didn't have a choice._

_"We'll need better shelter," said Ronon matter-of-factly, looking around the barely-lit forest clearing and up at the gathering clouds. "Looks like rain."_

_"Think I saw a hill not far off earlier." Ramirez gestured behind him with his thumb. "Could be caves there."_

_"Any freshwater nearby?" asked Durani._

_"Yeah, think I saw a stream."_

_"Should be some medicinal herbs and plants around here," said Grayson quietly. "I'll go out in the morning and have a look."_

_"Could do with some more weapons," Thompson muttered, twirling a makeshift spear in her hands. "Maybe see if that town can yield us anything."_

_How easily they followed him. Without question, without a word, they did what they had to do. Just like they'd done seven years ago when_ Daedalus _had crashed on Terra Nova and John had been the only CO standing at the time._

_It was too much. John's eyes stung and the tears ran down his face before he could stop them. And all that echoed inside his mind, was:_

I need to get them home. Whatever it takes.

* * *

The stream clucked and trickled past his feet without a care to the hour of the day. Far up on the night sky, the clouds had finally cleared and all John could see were the stars.

Still no Pyxia. Still no ship.  Still a war-ravaged galaxy playing on old feelings of injustice, duty and responsibility. Overshadowing those, however, were the twenty-eight lines that had joined the original seventy-six.

The very thought made John’s healthy hand fist and shake, but there was nothing he could do about it.  _Time_ didn’t care about his seemingly petty problems.

With an angry kick, John's lines in the dirt were wiped out, just like the barren wastelands left behind after Asuran bombardment.  Then afterwards,  he felt as empty as the house he'd visited earlier that day. 

No wonder his mind was in turmoil; too many competitive emotions and duties. A storm would’ve been welcome, but the universe wouldn’t grant him that either.

When John heard the familiar soft treads behind him, he groaned. "What?"

Out of the shadows, Ronon came and crouched down next to the stream, water skin in hand. He didn't talk for a long while, using the time to refill the water skin and drink from it. Only when he'd let it hang in his hand for a little while, did he speak his mind.

"How long have you known?"

John looked up to meet Ronon's dark eyes in the night gloom. "Known what?"

"About Sam."

A stir rose up beneath the void. John's limbs went deathly still. "What—?"

"You're counting the days." Ronon shifted in his seat like a rock suddenly dissolving into some different shape, then gestured to the disturbed earth at John's feet and the broken lines that'd escaped his carnage.  His voice was low **,** almost accusatory,  “We’ve not been gone that long.”

The urge to wipe away the surviving lines to hide the evidence caused John’s feet to twitch in response, giving him away. Cursing his own weakness, he clenched his healthy fist instead, letting the nails dig into his skin and bring him some semblance of control.

“Some time…” John muttered, his teeth gritted slightly. He knew Ronon well enough by now that there was no point denying it, and there  _was_ a small, pervasive part of him that felt  _lighter,_ almost. “Never had it confirmed, but…” He sighed heavily, unclenching his fist. “There were signs.”

Ronon didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he turned back to the stream and looked down at the glittering water, his expression troubled. For some reason, it made John tense; it was the first time he’d seen the Satedan unsettled in a very long time.

When Ronon finally met his eyes, it was with a touch of accusation that made John’s ball of shame grow exponentially. His words, however, betrayed nothing of his underlying subtext of ‘you should’ve told me’.

“She’s strong,” Ronon said gruffly. “Proved that last time.”

John hesitated, his insides churning uncomfortably. “And what if this time, she’s not?”

That was the burning question that’d been pressing down on his mind for the past three months, and which he’d struggled not to bring into existence. And now a terrible, overpowering emptiness soared up from the abyss, and his pulse built in momentum until blood pounded in his ears and his breathing quickened. He became someone else, someone he didn’t recognise; falling into a role he’d never been in before.

And it terrified him.

When Ronon answered, his voice was solemn.  "We have to forget them for now. Focus on the mission. Stay frosty."

John knew that. Of course he did: you could take the man out of the soldier, but not the soldier out of the man. Even seven years as a non-combatant couldn't change that, and yet…

This was different than when he'd gone to Bosnia or Afghanistan or even those first few years on Atlantis. There was no military hierarchy to support them or those at home. They were operating on their own power, without back-up, and that made them vulnerable. All it took was a wrong step and a venomous animal or poisonous plant, and they'd be dead. The same thing had been going on back home for the past seven years. If John and his team died, there was no one to carry the message home. No one to pick up the pieces.

_Except…they might think you're already dead._

That thought made him nauseous.

“Sheppard,” Ronon called, snapping him out of his stupor. The Satedan’s eyes glittered in the darkness, his jaw set resolutely. “We’re still alive.”

_Still alive._ John blinked.  _Still…_ He opened his mouth—

But before he could say anything else, the air snapped with a sudden, deadly familiar, gun shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Still alive.


End file.
